


Threading the Needle

by claudinedelyon



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, But with designers not models, Everybody's got a tragic backstory, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, I am indulging my dream of a line of gender-neutral clothing please bear with me, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Sharing a Bed, Very brief ableist language, lil bit of jealousy, mentions of past unhealthy relationships, some miscommunication, sort of Found Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21793801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudinedelyon/pseuds/claudinedelyon
Summary: Anybody who has so much as met Martino could probably tell fashion is not his biggest passion in life. But he has rent and bills to pay so he will happily take the position offered by Brava, a small but growing clothing company. The fact that the job turns out not as crappy as he feared and that the people working there welcome him with open arms, those are all perks that just make his life easier.And the presence of one dark-haired designer who seems to draw great amusement from his lack of knowledge or interest in the company's line of business, well, it's something else entirely.
Relationships: Niccolò Fares/Martino Rametta, background Eva Brighi/Eleonora Sava
Comments: 108
Kudos: 129





	1. If the shoe fits

**Author's Note:**

> I took a lot of liberties with a lot of things, so if anything mentioned in here falls under your area of expertise... I'm so sorry.  
> I usually care about accuracy, but not today.

To be fair, Martino was expecting teasing, some jokes, maybe one or two laughs, because he likes to think he has enough self-awareness to have seen this coming. He was not, however, expecting Gio and Elia to have to support each other, crying actual tears of mirth and struggling to catch their breaths. Only Luca seems to have really taken in the news and has instead thrown his arms around his neck with a happy smile and heartfelt congratulations. So, Gio and Elia can go fuck themselves as far as Martino is concerned, Luchino’s his new best friend now. He may say dumb, or wildly inappropriate, shit sometimes, but at least he does not openly mock him when he announces he’s finally found a new job. Martino’s always been too tough on the poor guy, he knows that.

“Are you guys done?” he asks, once Luca is on his stumbling way to the bar to get them all another celebratory round, as Elia wipes his eyes with his sleeve and Giovanni takes deep, calming breaths.

The evening had started out pretty well, they had toasted to Gio and Sofi's two-year-and-three-day anniversary, to Elia getting the well-deserved raise he had been trying to obtain for months, to Luca giving his notice from his shitty apartment and his even shittier landlord, and in retrospect, perhaps Martino shouldn't have waited until they were three toasts in to announce he was no longer jobless after months of temping and watching his hopes of ever working in Rome again slowly dwindle away. Celebratory cheers had erupted at first, they had raised their freshly-emptied glasses and were ready to order more drinks when Giovanni had asked,

“Wait, where's that job then?”

That had been the kicker, the moment they had gone from sharing in his happiness to laughing at him.

Almost sobered up at having to actually say it out loud, Martino had mumbled the words “fashion company” into the last dregs of his beer, which was how his two ex-best friends had ended up crying with laughter. Although he does understand on principle, the stress of receiving rejection after rejection, the relief at having been told yes just two days earlier and the alcohol have started to make the laughter grating to his ears. Luckily, this is when they do manage pull themselves together, take a look at his face and, at last, shower him with the support and enthusiasm he had been looking for. The next morning’s hangover is a bad one, but once the fog and headache start dissipating, Martino feels it was worth it.

It is true that Martino doesn’t know much about fashion, he’ll be the first to admit it.

What he does know is accounting. And it had just so happened that Brava, an up-and-coming Roman fashion company, had needed somebody to take over managing the books and a lot of the administrative tasks now that they were slowly growing bigger and nobody had judged or questioned his sense of style at any point during the process.

The salary isn't that great, especially compared to his previous job, but one of the founding partners is Filippo’s sister, so he’s pretty sure she won’t mess with him, which would be a significant improvement on that same previous job. And he likes what he’s heard of their values from Filippo's very convincing sales pitch as well as from the owners themselves when they had interviewed him.

Moreover, his and Elia’s flat is close enough that he can even walk to work and save himself the price of a bus pass. Not to mention that he's been out of a job for long enough that Elia won't be able to cover most of the rent for much longer.

Martino likes numbers. Contrary to what everybody else tries to tell him, he finds numbers easy. Comforting, even. Numbers are nothing like the darkness that weighed over his mom throughout most of his teenage years or like having feelings for his straight best friend. Numbers haven’t been making fun of his clothes for the past ten years. They’ve never screwed him over either. Unlike his bosses, for instance, or unlike one of them in particular.

His last boss, Covitti, had not particularly liked him from the start, but things had gotten progressively worse as Martino had, in this order, turned down his sister's insistent advances, happened to be gay, and then lastly flat out refused to become complicit in what had looked a lot like embezzlement.

Covitti had then fabricated a bullshit reason to fire him and, as he had found out during his search for a new job, proceeded to spread rumors about his supposed untrustworthiness. Unfortunately, the Roman business sphere was small enough and Covitti, for some reason, respected enough, for these rumors to hamper his search, reducing him to temp missions for much longer than he would have liked.

When he had tried to dispel any doubt over the situation during his interview, however, Eleonora and Eva, who had insisted on the use of first names, had not seemed that concerned by whatever they may have heard.

“I went to school with Covitti and his sister,” Eva had explained. “I know what he’s like.”

“But my brother speaks highly of you and I trust his judgement,” Eleonora had continued, before pausing for an instant, probably remembering that he knew Filippo. “His professional judgement, at least.” The last part she had added with a conspiratorial smile and Martino had considerably relaxed from this point on.

Despite the interview going significantly better than any other he had had in the past year, Martino had convinced himself he would never get the job. Nothing in his résumé could have made him out to be a good hire for a fashion company, especially one still trying to build its reputation and its customer base. And yet, by the end of the week, while Elia had resorted to occasionally letting him win a game to make him feel better, Eleonora had called with an offer for a job, wondering when he could come by to sign his contract.

As he had sat at a desk, under Eleonora and Eva's scrutiny and warm smiles, he hadn't been able to stop himself from asking,

“Wouldn’t you rather hire someone with experience in fashion?”

They had exchanged a glance, which hadn't seemed that reassuring until Eleonora replied,

“Ideally, sure. But we liked your profile. And you do come highly recommended.”

He had returned the smile and accepted the answer. He was going to owe Filippo so many cocktails for that.

After another glance between them, Eva had sat up straighter on her chair.

"And to be completely honest, Martino, what we’re offering, it’s not much and it’s certainly not enough for people in the business or with a specialized degree. It’s just a starting point, and not even a great one.”

"Yes, we're growing, but we're not quite there yet,” Eleonora had added.

He hadn’t been able to help the smirk that had appeared on his face. "Are you saying I'm cheap for taking that job, then?"

It was the kind of smartass remark that used to get him in trouble in his old job, but before he could regret it, they had both laughed.

"If the shoe fits..." Eva had shot back.

He had grinned back at her and it was already more fun than he’d had in his entire run with Covitti as his boss and he hadn’t even signed yet.

“No, but if anything, we’re being cheap offering that starting salary,” Eleonora had continued, clearly intent on showing that they knew they didn’t have that much to offer. “Especially since you’re kind of overqualified for that position.” Martino was perfectly aware of that fact, but he couldn’t afford to be picky. It might not have seemed much to her, but it was a lot for him. In fact, it was all he had at the moment. And if he had to keep paying rent as he waited for things to die down, he figured he might as well do it while working for people he did respect.

“So, you’re cheap, and I’m desperate, I guess,” he had shrugged, hoping it might assuage her worries.

In answer, she had handed him a pen and pushed the contract towards him. “Isn’t that how all the best collaborations start?”

He didn’t know about that, but he had read the document in front of him, had found nothing dodgy or unacceptable and had proceeded to initial every page.

"By the way, I don't know what you did to Covitti, but he's holding one hell of a grudge," Eva had commented as he had lifted the pen from the paper after a final signature and slid it back towards Eleonora.

"I guess brownnosing was never quite my thing, and he didn't like it."

She had nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, that sounds about right.”

And just like that, Martino was working in fashion.


	2. Losers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are entering the realm of pure utopia here, because who needs a business plan when you can run a company on a desire to do good?  
> 

A week later, on a cold January morning, Martino takes possession of a small office that looks as if it had been added as an afterthought, almost squeezed between the meeting room and the alley that serves as the company’s temporary headquarters, which at least lets him have a narrow window looking out to the outside. In any case, he doesn't remember ever being happier to set up his email on a slightly outdated desktop. There is a plant sitting next to it which Eleonora brought him from her own office with strict orders to keep it alive, and not much else.

People trickle in over the course of the morning, seemingly with no specific regards to time, which he cannot help but think must make tracking hours a nightmare. He remembers then that tracking hours had been one of the missions Eleonora had listed to him, with an apologetic explanation that, since he was new, it was his turn to deal with that as she had done her part already.

Most of them walk past his office before doing a double take and coming back to introduce themselves briefly before scattering towards the small kitchen, the meeting room or the open space upstairs, where most of the creative work seems to be done and where he hasn’t stepped foot yet. It is, as far as he is aware, the domain of the four in-house designers, Federica, Niccolò, Sana and Silvia, while he and both funding partners occupy the ground floor.

It is on Martino’s second day, while he is taking a break from trying to catch up on the company’s history and making himself a mid-morning cup of coffee, that he finally gets a chance to have an actual conversation with somebody. He is staring mindlessly as the coffee trickle into the “#1 Accountant” mug Gio had given him when he had graduated while trying not to keep going over everything he has to do, when a voice draws him from his reverie.

“So, what did you do?”

Behind him, he finds Sana looking at him with an expression that is hard to decipher and could probably qualify as curiosity, but not the overtly friendly kind. Adding to that the fact that he doesn’t understand her question, he’s not sure what to tell her.

“What do you mean?”

“What did you do? Did you fuck up or was it somebody who screwed you over?”

She sounds like it should clarify her meaning, but it definitely doesn’t. Picking up his coffee, he looks back at her, hoping that she will elaborate by herself. Realization dawns over her expression.

“You don't know?” He shakes his head in relief, because that is one thing he can tell with certainty. “Ele and Eva practically only hire the black sheep in their field. The people that have been burned in every other company. The losers that nobody wants,” she adds after a second as if she was afraid she hadn’t quite driven her point home.

All Martino can do is blink at her. “Wow. Thank you, I feel special.”

Sana shrugs, but there is a small smile on her face now. “You're not.”

“Everybody here has something?” He asks, his curiosity sparked by her revelation, and she nods. For all that he had only seen the others briefly, none of them had seemed particularly troubled or dejected, but rather content and friendly. “What kind of things are you talking about?”

“I’m not going to tell you that. You can ask them if you want to know.”

“Okay, so what is your thing, then?”

She looks at him like he's stupid, and so far this conversation is starting to make him feel like it could be a valid concern. “What do you think? I'm the exception. Everybody’s desperate to hire a designer in a hijab.”

He does feel stupid at that, because he hopes he's not quite that oblivious to what happens around him. Before he can open his mouth to say anything, however, she repeats her question.

“So, what did you do?” The emphasis makes it clear that it’s his turn to talk, so he guesses that this is all he’ll get to hear about her own troubles, at least for now.

He tells her the story because he sees no reason not to and it’s not as if it paints him in any kind of bad light. Only Covitti would figure refusing to embezzle money as a bad thing. By the time she’s got her own cup of coffee ready and sweetened to her taste, she gives him a smile that is way friendlier than anything that has passed between them in the last few minutes.

“That’s not bad,” she comments on her way out and raises her mug in his direction before heading towards the staircase.

Martino exhales in relief as if he had just passed some kind of test.

It doesn’t take very long before he discovers that she was right and that it is apparently a thing within the company because Federica asks him the same question the next morning and then Eva at lunch. Neither of them is pushy about it, but oddly casual, which makes it seem as if asking for his tale of woe was a regular conversation starter at Brava.

Once he’s told the same story for the third time, and turned the question back to her, Eva pleasantly informs him while heating up her food that the Roman fashion scene could be surprisingly conservative in some areas and that she was apparently what some people considered a slut. She doesn’t seem all that bothered by the epithet, no matter how harsh it sounds to Martino’s ears. Instead, she just waits for him to say something, which takes him a second before he goes for a hesitant “Good for you.”

He does realize how flat the words sound, but she seems happy enough with them and thanks him before turning back to the microwave and picking up her smoking plate.

Federica and Niccolò come in just in time to witness the exchange and sit down at the small table shoved against a wall, seemingly delighted with its outcome. As soon as Eva leaves the room with a wave, laughter bubbles up from behind Martino. He turns around to find the two of them sniggering together.

“You really have a way with words, don’t you?” Federica comments.

“What was I supposed to say to that? I’ve been here for two days!”

“I think you did pretty well,” Niccolò says. His tone is teasing, but Martino will take the compliment with a smile, glad that he hasn’t just made a complete idiot of himself. “She told me the same thing almost word for word when I first started. I think it’s her own version of hazing,” Niccolò continues.

Martino would love to hear more about that particular story, perhaps even get a chance at asking how Niccolò ended up here because he is curious by now, but Eleonora comes to get him to talk to him about their suppliers, and he doesn’t learn anything else that day about any of his new coworkers.

By the end of his first week, though, he has a pretty good sense of everybody’s backgrounds. They are all willing enough to open up, some in more details than others, they just don’t talk about what happened to the others, which Martino can only respect.

With each new story he hears, his heart sinks a little more. The fact that all these people can remain so passionate about an industry that bit them off and chewed them out for things that were barely in their control sounds both depressing and inspiring as hell.

Eleonora, considered too opinionated by many, had had her dream of making fashion slightly more sustainable and inclusive laughed off for being unrealistic. She had only been able to make it happen through constant fighting and the unexpected support of a certain Spera, who had taken on the apparently ironic title of angel investor. Spera, an eccentric former designer himself, had had his own struggles throughout his career and liked to grumble about the state of the world while discreetly funding projects that strove to make it a little better. A chance meeting with Eva at a conference on sustainable fashion had led the three of them to lay the foundations for and kickstart Brava through what seemed like sheer force of will, with the help of a surprisingly successful crowdfunding campaign and by applying for every grant they were remotely eligible to. Spera was rarely seen or heard from, but unfailingly supportive on the rare occasions when he came out of whatever hole he had dug himself into to promote the brand.

Eleonora and Eva had put their brains and their ideals together supported by his funds and connections to start a company that intended to produce a quality gender-neutral line of clothing made in Italy from start to finish that would be available beyond the limited range of sizes found in most stores while limiting their carbon footprint as much as they could. It had been an ambitious project and although they were still pretty far from reaching their goal, they seemed to be getting closer every day thanks to the help of the like-minded black sheep they gathered along the way.

Federica, after being dismissed as too fat to have anything of interest to say on the subject of fashion, was still trying to ensure that anybody who didn’t quite fit the mold presented over and over again as the norm, could still wear clothes they loved and that made them feel like they deserved to call themselves beautiful.

Sana, who was already too used to dealing with hate in her everyday life, had found that the professional world was not going to treat her any more fairly and had taken it upon herself not to rest until everybody could have the freedom to dress exactly as they wanted without being made to feel guilty or judged for it.

The only one who doesn’t tell him straight out is Silvia, although she was present as Fede recounted her own past struggles. Oddly enough, he doesn’t need her to, because he already knows. Because Silvia’s story is public knowledge.

Back when he was still working for Covitti, he had seen the headlines displayed all over the streets and the news items regaling of the tale of the rising star of a fashion house whose name he has long forgotten, who had fainted in the middle of a show. He hadn’t quite understood the fascination for the topic until it had been revealed that Silvia Mirabella was suffering from an eating disorder. The debate that had then sparked had lasted a while, doctors and specialists had spoken, panels had been held and editorials written, while Silvia’s career had discreetly come to an abrupt end. She had disappeared quickly after everything and had never been heard from on catwalks again.

She certainly looks better now than she had on the cover of those tabloids all those years ago, but there is still something fragile in her appearance. And yet, she’s still here, hoping that one day nobody will be driven to starving themselves to fit into a dress.

Martino notices that he’s still one backstory short. He hasn’t had a chance to have an actual conversation with Niccolò yet, although they have been in the same room on several occasions, during which his eyes were drawn to him in a way he could not quite explain. He is not blind to the fact that Niccolò has a gorgeous smile and a seemingly ever-present twinkle in his eyes, but he doesn’t think it entirely explains the pull he feels whenever they are within proximity of each other. Of course, he wouldn’t admit any of that out loud, he barely even admits it to himself, because developing a crush on his coworker five days into a new job would be a new low for him, not quite on par with falling for his best friend in high school, but not far behind either.

More often than not, he had found Niccolò looking back.

But then, on Friday afternoon, as his first week draws to a close, the two of them find themselves alone in the kitchen. By now, Martino isn’t even phased anymore when Niccolò nods in his direction before asking, “So, what did you do?”

“You know, now that everybody has officially asked me that question, I’m starting to wonder one thing.”

His deflection seems to amuse Niccolò who eagerly sits up straighter.

“Oh yeah? What is it?”

“Have you considered putting it into your brochures?”

Niccolò grins as he takes a stab of the lunch he’s eating at 3 in the afternoon, because apparently time is an abstract concept to fashion designers.

"Do people even still make brochures?"

"Your Twitter bio, then," Martino amends.

"How do you think that should go?” Niccolò replies with questioning tilt of the head. ’Welcome to Brava, everybody hates us, buy our shit?'"

"Catchy."

“Either way, we don’t need to, everybody already knows it. It’s basically our branding.”

For as many times as he’s had a similar version of this conversation, this part is news to Martino. His curiosity once again piqued, he sits down on the other chair at the table. “Really? And that works?”

“Believe it or not, it works pretty well with the customer base we’re aiming for, people who are marginalized, who don’t fit or don’t want to fit within what’s usually presented as the norm.”

“But how would they know all that about you guys? Because I was kidding about the brochures.”

“No, that’s not how we do it,” Niccolò answers with a laugh. “Although I’d love to see you pitch that idea to Ele and Eva.”

“How, then?”

"Don't underestimate what word of mouth can do when it reaches the right circles."

"Just word of mouth? And how do you spread that?"

"We do some of that ourselves, whenever we go to events, talk to suppliers. But mostly, communication is Eva's domain, and she's really good at it."

He may never have seen her in action, but Martino is willing to take Niccolò’s word for it. Both she and Eleonora give off a sort of frightfully competent vibe that is probably an asset whenever they need to defend their passion project that a lot of people had seen as doomed to fail.

“That’s what they are, then, those stories? Marketing?”

Niccolò puts down his fork thoughtfully before answering.

“They’re all true. Everybody already knew Silvia and Spera when the company was created, plus Ele and Eva have been vocal enough about the industry that they were sort of known as well. The rest of us, we're just here to back up the tale, so to speak. And in the end, if they help some people feel like they’re not the only ones going through something and that makes them want to buy our clothes… good for everybody, I guess.”

While he ponders that statement, Martino looks up to find Niccolò looking at him expectantly. He makes a questioning face in answer.

“So, you didn’t tell me, what’s your thing?” Niccolò explains.

“Oh. You could say I've got morals. That pissed off the wrong people.” He gives him the gist of the story that he's been repeating every day this week before jumping on the chance to finally learn more about Niccolò. “What about you? Were you a model, like Silvia?”

“A model? No. What makes you say that?”

He looks genuinely puzzled, and Martino wants to bite his own tongue off. So, he’s noticed how effortlessly good-looking Niccolò is and how confidently he carries himself. It hadn’t seemed like that much of a stretch to deduce he could have been a model from there. Now he wishes he had kept that stretch to himself. “I don’t know.”

Luckily for him, Niccolò moves past the assumption as gracefully as he does everything else.

“No, I wasn’t. I just dumped the wrong person.”

Just as Eva’s vague comment about her own sex life, which she hadn’t expanded on since, it seems like a much too personal reason to justify being ostracized by a large part of an industry, tightly knit as it may be, and Martino doesn’t mean to be indiscreet, but it’s tempting to try and find out more.

“That’s it?”

Niccolò nods and his expression closes off slightly. “I know, but trust me, it was the really, really wrong person.”

Martino doesn’t quite know what to say to that. There’s definitely a story there, but they’ve just met and he doesn’t like to pry, not when Niccolò is so visibly reluctant to talk about it. So, he says the only thing he can think of.

“I’m sorry.”

At least, it brings back a happier expression to Niccolò’s face, who gives him a look that could almost be considered fond.

“It’s really not your fault.”

“Still, having your personal life used against you in your job, that really sucks.”

Even though it had not been the official reason for his own dismissal, if only because it would never have held up legally, he does remember the look on Covitti’s face when he had caught sight of the photo of himself and Mattia that Martino used to have as his lock screen. From that moment on, he had been pretty much counting down his days at the company and waiting for what would be the perfect pretext to kick him out. It had taken longer than he had expected, but it had come in the end.

Maybe the memory makes his tone come out more sincere than he means it to, because it earns him a curious look from Niccolò who studies him for a moment. Martino is about to attempt to break the silence, not even sure what is about to come out of his mouth, when Niccolò’s phone on the table starts buzzing.

“Sorry, I have to take that,” he offers apologetically, making an unhappy face. Just as Martino stands up to leave, Niccolò, already placing the still buzzing phone by his ear, quickly adds, “By the way, you can say ‘us’ now.”

Martino stops in the doorway as he tries to puzzle out the words.

“What?”

“Before,” Niccolò points out just before picking up the call, “you said ‘you guys’ to talk about Brava. But you’re one of us now.”

Martino leaves the room with a smile. He does like the sound of that.


	3. Control S

Halfway through his third week and twenty five minutes into his first staff meeting, Martino is wondering what he’s doing here. Sure, he’s part of the staff, but his only contribution so far has been to talk for two minutes about a grant application he and Eva have been working on and briefly pitch in on the project to open the company's first physical store in the near to not-so-near future. Everybody listened politely and without much apparent interest, and that was it. They’ve been talking clothes ever since.

More specifically, for the past ten minutes, Sana and Silvia have been arguing about what he thinks must be different types of cottons. He cannot tell for sure, first because the word “cotton” hasn't actually be uttered, and second because he zoned out about thirty seconds in and started doodling on his otherwise blank notepad after about a minute. Feeling like it might not be a good idea to completely tune them out, he looks up and tries to focus back on the conversation to see if they’re still at it. He discovers that Federica has joined in since he last paid attention.

As he glances around, he meets a pair of eyes looking back at him from across the table. The glint in them could be mocking or amused, he doesn’t know Niccolò well enough yet to be positive about it. Whatever it is, Niccolò turns towards the debaters with a suppressed smile, clears his throat and raises a hand to draw their attention. They stop talking and everybody turns to him.

“Sorry to interrupt, but maybe that can be decided later, with just the people concerned? Some of us have meetings to get to.” His smile grows a little wider. “And some of us have no interest in the intricacies of choosing voile over organdy.”

At his words, they all turn to Martino who feels compelled to fold his hands over his notepad and conceal it from view

“You’re right. Let’s get this meeting done with and then we’ll come back to it,” Eleonora settles, despite the clear frustration coming off from both Sana and Silvia at their disagreement being pushed aside.

Martino holds back a sigh of relief and catches Niccolò still observing him with what he really believes to be amusement this time. He shakes his head and attempts a scowl for having been exposed so shamelessly. It only serves to make Niccolò look prouder of himself and give him a discreet salute before turning his attention back to Eva’s Instagram campaign.

As it turns out, he could already have been back in his office with his spreadsheets and regulations - things that actually make sense to him - because the meeting soon comes to an end after that.

Before he makes his way out of the room, Martino stops by Niccolò, who is looking at something on his phone, and leans in to whisper, “Thanks for saving me.”

Niccolò looks up and with the same twinkle in his eyes, whispers back with surprising honesty, “My pleasure.”

Later that same week, although it has long since gotten dark outside and the hallway is silent, Martino is contemplating the idea of having to spend his Friday night sitting at his desk. While everybody else has already left to enjoy their weekends, he is fighting a battle against technology and losing.

His computer crashed not even twenty minutes before the time he usually leaves, annihilating most of the work he had done during the afternoon. After a panicked and ultimately fruitless phone call to Gio in the hope that he could talk him into salvaging a backup, an older version of his file, even incomplete, anything, he had been forced to admit that the work was lost and had not quite managed to bite back a curse which had brought a half-concerned and half-amused Eleonora to his doorway. She had commiserated but unable to help, had left him to his predicament.

So, for the past hour, Martino has been redoing exactly the same thing he had already spent three hours on, now fueled by anger at himself for not backing up his files and at his computer for being fallible. He's gritting his teeth, focused on the lines of numbers and compulsively hitting Ctrl S to avoid another further disaster when he hears footsteps outside his office. He doesn't pay much attention to them, as the designers do tend to stay late on occasion, although not usually on Fridays.

When the footsteps stop and a familiar voice calls out “Marti?” he does look up to find Niccolò leaning in the doorway with a look of surprise.

“You're still here?”

“Yes,” Martino sighs, glad for the short reprieve, “my computer crashed. I lost hours of work.”

“Oh, shit.”

He doesn't ask why he didn’t back up his file or if he's tried something he probably already has, for which Martino is grateful, and just makes a sympathetic face.

“And you?” He asks, because a conversation with Niccolò, short as it may be, will always be preferable to what is waiting for him.

“I was just trying to finish something.” He seems on the verge of saying more when he turns around in the direction of the staircase, and then back to Martino. “Actually, I think I could use some help with it. Unless you really need to do this.” He points towards the computer.

“Oh, no, I was just trying to avoid having to deal with this first thing on Monday, but it can wait. What is it?”

Martino gestures to the chair that sits in front of his desk, expecting him to have an issue with his wages or an invoice or anything that falls even slightly under his purview. But Niccolò shakes his head.

“No, not like that. I could use a model.”

With a glance behind him at the darkened hallway, illuminated only by his own desk lamp and a ray of light coming from the open space above them, Martino has the distinct memory of hearing the others wish him a good weekend one by one as they made their way out.

“But there’s nobody left.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Marti.” The answer is delivered with a smile that Martino doesn't understand right away, not for the several seconds it takes him to process Niccolò’s meaning.

“Me? No, I’m not a model.” There is a hint of wariness in his voice, as he immediately tries and fails to imagine what that could possibly entail. It doesn't sound like it could be anything good anyway. At the same time, another part of his mind treacherously whispers that he is not deluded enough to believe he would ever choose typing invoice numbers over spending any amount of time alone with Niccolò. There may not be that many of them working on the premises, but there always seems to be somebody else around and the occasions for one-on-one conversations have been rare.

“Tonight, I just need you to stand there,” Niccolò replies with what looks like a reassuring gesture, although the fact that he seems tremendously entertained by the situation sort of defeats his point. “Do you think you could manage?”

“Stand there and...”

“Wear some clothes so I can see how they fall on you?”

“That's it?” It sounds almost too easy.

“That's it. It shouldn't take too long, I promise.”

Martino, of course, agrees when he turns his eyes back to his screen and the very sight of the Excel sheet suddenly seems unbearable compared with the other, much more appealing option that is presenting itself. So, he saves his file, then backs it up on his USB drive, then on the company's Google Drive. Then, as he's about to shut down his computer, he emails it to himself while Niccolò patiently watches him do it.

They walk up the old, creaky stairs to what the designers call their studio, which is nothing more than a big room that takes up almost the entire length of the building, with a door leading to an overflowing storage closet and two windows overlooking the street. It looks much neater than the last time he had come up, probably because most things have been put away for the weekend. A laptop is open on one of the desks lined against the walls and half-finished clothes have been left on a few mannequins, but all the rolls of fabrics and all the material they use is tucked away.

Martino follows to the only desk that is visibly still occupied, where Niccolò picks up a folded, dark blue piece of clothing and hands it over carefully.

“It could have waited until Monday, but I won't have to think about it all weekend if it's done now, so thank you. There's a screen over there, you can just put it on.”

Martino takes the clothes and heads in the direction that's just been pointed out to him.

He steps back out from behind the screen almost immediately, and Niccolò must have expected his reaction because he hasn't moved and is scrutinizing his expression. Martino unfolds the garment to underline his point.

“It’s a dress.”

Completely unsurprised, Niccolò simply looks at him, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Aw, and who said you didn’t know anything about fashion?”

“But…” Martino doesn’t want to state the obvious, that this is a dress and that he’s a guy. First, because they are both aware of these facts already, and also because he distinctly remembers the words “gender-neutral” being uttered repeatedly on various occasions and plastered in every press release he’s laid eyes on, not to mention the company's website and social media, as a major selling point. He settles for the only thing he doesn't feel too foolish saying out loud. “Are you sure?” As he says it, he gestures towards himself with the hand that is still holding the dress.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Niccolò replies, looking almost resigned already. “It’s okay, I can find somebody else next week.”

Instead of convincing him to take the out he's just been offered, the proposition just makes Martino more hesitant, torn between genuinely wanting to help and stepping out, way out, of his comfort zone.

Perhaps sensing his ambivalence and with a glance at the dress, Niccolò teases, “Are you afraid for your virility? You know, there are a lot of very masculine guys who can pull off a dress.” Martino has no doubt whatsoever about that. He’s just not sure that he is one of them. “Have you ever seen those guys in Scotland who throw whole tree trunks while wearing kilts?”

Martino tries not to dwell on that mental image, but he would have to assume that none of these guys look like scraggy Italian guys who cancelled their gym membership after spraining their ankle on their second visit. His hair color might actually be all he has in common with them.

“I’m pretty sure I couldn’t even lift a trunk”, he replies instead, which earns him a sympathetic smile.

“So?” Niccolò asks, nodding towards the dress. “Are you still in?”

In a split second, Martino makes a decision and doesn't let himself overthink it.

"Sure. I was just surprised. I guess, whenever you said gender-neutral, I sort of assumed you were talking about shirts, sweaters. Maybe trousers."

Before he can turn back to the screen, Niccolò huffs a brief laugh.

"Ah, but where would be the fun in that?"

When he comes out from behind the screen, Martino still won't let himself reconsider his decision or examine it too closely. He steps towards Niccolò who, mercifully, doesn't make any comment and only looks down to assess him. Or rather, to assess the dress, not him, even though it feels like they are one and only in that moment. Whatever he is seeing is not making him happy.

“Is something wrong?” Martino asks before he can look down at himself or, worse, catch his reflection somewhere, choosing to focus on Niccolò's furrowed brow.

“I'm not happy with the way it falls.”

“Sorry, I don’t think I’m the best person for what you need.”

“Marti,” Niccolò replies, finally looking back at him and not what he's wearing, with a smile in his eyes and some of that fondness he gets in his voice sometimes when they're talking. “If it doesn’t fall right on you, that’s the dress’s fault, not yours. That’s exactly why I wanted a real person.”

It should not feel gratifying to know that he's not inherently so weirdly-shaped that handmade quality clothes refuse to fit him on principle. Especially as the cheaper, mass-produced clothes he usually goes for suit him fine as far as he’s aware.

Meanwhile, Niccolò has turned his back on him and is rummaging through a drawer only to return with a plastic box in his hand.

“Do you mind if I try to alter it a bit?”

Martino makes a vague gesture in his general direction.

“Go ahead. I'm here now, might as well finish it.”

“It won't take long, I promise. And so far, you're doing amazing,” Niccolò teases with a pat on his shoulder before he kneels at his feet, opening the box of pins.

The “fuck off” he had been about to bite back dies in Martino's throat as he forcibly attempts not to focus on Niccolò’s proximity to his bare legs.

It had seemed practical when he was changing because the open space is hard to heat up and is always somewhat drafty, but for some reason, he is starting to regret keeping his socks on. At least, considering whether or not they really make him more look even more stupid is keeping his thoughts from straying to dangerous territories.

Still, he feels awkward just standing there, not knowing what to do with his arms or, basically, everything. He can’t even move or change positions because he doesn’t want to mess up whatever Niccolò is doing to the bottom of the dress. Not to mention that there are now very sharp pins very close to his skin.

After about a minute, Niccolò stands up and walks past Martino to somewhere behind him. “Is that it?” He asks, the hope way too obvious in his voice.

“Nope, you're not quite free yet.”

When Niccolò comes back holding a full-length mirror, Martino can feel his stomach sink.

“Is that really necessary?”

Having planted the mirror right in front of him, Niccolò gets back into position and picks up another pin.

“I need to see what I'm doing and that way I won't have to stand up every 30 seconds to check the full effect, so I'm just trying to make it faster for you.” With a glance towards the mirror to check the length of the dress, he looks up at Martino. “Why? You don't think this is a good look on you?”

Martino makes a face just long enough that he catches it in the mirror before going pack to pinning. He chances a look at his reflection while Niccolò is focused on what he’s doing, but the image in the mirror seems too distant from who he is, so he averts his eyes after a second. As much as he appreciates Niccolò trying to be as quick as he can, the silence is starting to make him antsy.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” Niccolò answers without even looking up.

“It’s kinda stupid.”

“There are no stupid questions,” he comments with a smile in his voice.

“Does that really sell? Gender-neutral clothing?”

Niccolò hasn't looked at him directly since he started working on the hem again, so when he does, Martino’s discomfort increases tenfold, and he’s wearing a dress.

“You’ve seen the balance sheet, you tell me.”

Of course, he knows that Brava isn’t doing too badly, especially for such a young company, so he does have his answer, or part of it. Yet, he's still curious.

“I mean that I don't think I had ever heard of any company doing that before Filo told me about the job. Isn't it a bit of a niche market?”

“I guess, but there’s definitely some interest. You just gotta know how to find the right customers who might actually buy them.”

“Right. Word of mouth.”

“Word of mouth,” Niccolò repeats with a nod, before looking back towards the mirror.

He stands up and considers the now slightly shorter dress again while Martino, in another attempt not to fidget, puts his hands on his hips. The way the material feels under his hands makes him look down.

“Hey, it has pockets?”

Niccolò bursts into laughter and meets his eyes in the mirror.

“Yes, company rule, everything has to have pockets. The others all really insisted. That’s a sore subject, don’t bring it up in a meeting if you ever want to go home at a reasonable time. It's basically in our bylaws.”

“Ah, I was wondering what that line was for.”

After examining the dress once more, Niccolò finally turns fully back to him.

“So, what do you think?”

“About what?”

“The dress. Doesn't it look better like that?”

Forced to turn to the mirror again, Martino keeps his eyes on the outfit itself and tries to forget it's his body he's seeing. He glances back to Niccolò who is studying him.

“I don't know.”

“There's no wrong answer. I’d just like to have your opinion.”

Another peek at the mirror and he has to admit that the overall effect isn’t as awkward as it was before. He still can’t imagine saying the dress actually fits him but he assumes that on somebody else, maybe somebody with more or less his body type, it could look good.

“I think it's better.”

He's rewarded with a small but satisfied smile.

“I think so, too. That means you're free this time.”

The wave of relief brought on by the statement is tinged with a slight disappointment at the fact that the odd intimacy of the moment has been broken.

Back behind the screen, Martino is inordinately happy to put on his own familiar clothes again. As he steps out, however, he takes one last look at the dress before joining Niccolò who is finishing clearing up his desk and putting his equipment away.

“Do you get a lot of men buying dresses?” Martino asks as he hands over the dress.

“It's hard to know, because we only sell online,” Niccolò replies, carefully folding it so as not to disturb the pins. “But people sometimes post pictures on social media and tag us, so we know there are at least a few of them.”

There is a follow-up to his question that popped into his mind while he was changing, but he's not sure how to ask it or even if it would be polite to. He knows he'll keep wondering if he doesn't, though, and Niccolò has indulged him so far. He clears his throat and gives it a try.

“And what about you?”

His question is only greeted by silence at first and Martino almost holds his breath, hoping he hasn't just made some sort of terrible faux pas.

“Dresses not so much, but skirts sometimes, sure,” Niccolò states the fact with a steady, slightly challenging tone. “Does that bother you?”

Niccolò keeps looking at him and Martino has to break eye contact to actually think about it because he has no idea and he can’t focus with those eyes on him. “No. Not really. I just never considered that it might really be an option.”

The tension dissolves as Niccolò’s stance relaxes visibly.

“Anything can be an option if you want it to be.”

Something he can’t quite pinpoint in the statement makes him wonder how much of it is actually about wearing dresses. But now that Niccolò is out of things to put away, Martino realizes that he is starving and that, as nice as the job and the present company are, it is still not the place where he wants to spend his entire Friday night. So, they head back downstairs to his office where Martino picks up his coat.

“Thank you for your help, really,” Niccolò says as he switches off the light and draws the front door closed behind them. “I appreciate it. Sorry for derailing your evening.”

“Well,” Martino answers while Niccolò locks up, “You save me, I save you, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't even tell anymore whether or not that was a weird scene to write. Oh well, what's done is done. The idea of Nico wearing skirts was brought to you by [this photoshoot](http://www.ericafava.it/Cursed-Flower).
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, for leaving kudos or commenting and may 2020 treat you kindly.


	4. Work for it

Something changes after that, although Martino is not quite sure what or how. It might be that Niccolò said something to the others or that he's just been here long enough now, either way they start coming up to him every once in a while and ask for his opinion. The first one to do so is Sana who, in a very Sana-like fashion, comes up to him one morning, holds out a sweater, and asks for his thoughts "as a basic dude". He gives her a look over the sweater but she's unflinching for all that her lips are twitching, and the whole situation is just confusing enough that he takes the offending sweater and answers her questions.

Federica is next in line the following week and she uses the exact same phrase, except she somehow manages to make it sound way dirtier. There is absolutely no way that this is a coincidence. He can't remember exactly what he tells her, but either he makes it clear that he doesn't love their chosen descriptor him or the others are just not as eager to mess with him, because they drop it after that. Still, they’ll come to his office with laptops or sketches, and the most surprising in all this is that whatever he says, they nod and hum and take notes.

Even Nico shows up once, and he has to point out the obvious this time, because Nico’s a guy, although Martino doesn't think he would qualify as “basic” by any means. But then again, he’s not exactly unbiased on this matter. Anyway, he’s got the opinions of a guy and more than that, he actually knows what he's talking about.

“But that’s exactly it!” Niccolò replies when he expresses his confusion. “I know fashion history, theory and trends, but that’s not useful to us. You just want clothes to wear, that’s why your opinion is so valuable.”

A part of Martino tries to find a way to frame the whole thing as some sort of backhanded compliment. But he has to admit that, as far as flattery goes, it works. He’s flattered. He's even more flattered when Sana shows him the finished sweater and points out the collar that she changed according to a comment he had made mostly just to say something.

All in all, he's settling pretty well, he gets used to the job, it's not the most exciting but now that he knows what is expected of him, he's slipped into a nice routine, the people are friendly and they value him for both his professional opinion and for who he is, which is quite a nice change of pace.

The only thing is Niccolò. He’s been here for two months now, and they've become friendly, but ever since that night when Martino attempted to model for him, all the teasing and the joking around can feel like it is toeing the line with flirting, occasionally coming very close from tipping to the other side. The problem is that it is hard to tell how much of it is actually directed at him and how much is just Nico being himself. In turn, it makes it hard to tell whether or not there is actually anything there.

They've never hung out outside of work, for once. The others sometimes do, usually for fashion-related events that he couldn’t attend even if he knew what to do there because they are all invitation-only. Those occasions often turn out to be more work than play from what he hears anyway, as Brava is still in the stage where every single opportunity to network and put their name out there cannot be passed on. Plus, they all work irregular hours, which is still a pain in his ass, even if they do try to make an effort to track when they come in and leave, while Martino contents himself with the usual 9 to 5. They sometimes don't come in at all when they're visiting other designers, suppliers, models or the production lines themselves. None of this is helping him figure out a way to gauge if he even has a shot with Niccolò.

And then, one Wednesday afternoon, he's washing up a mug in the kitchen when somebody walks into the room.

"Ah, just the man I was looking for."

He turns around to find Nico leaning against the doorjamb and feels a pleased smile appear on his face.

“Really?” It probably doesn’t mean anything, Martino’s the only other man around most days, but Nico was looking for him specifically and a guy can dream.

“Yes, I wanted to ask you something,” Nico continues. “A friend of mine is having a show on Friday to launch her new collection. I know it’s not really your thing, but it should be fun. It’s in a club, there's going to be a band, they’re supposed to be good. Do you want to come? She’s also really into androgynous looks, so you can see what it can look like,” he adds with a gesture in Martino's direction, as if he might need convincing.

If Martino was pleased that Nico was simply looking for him, he knows he’s beaming by now. He doesn’t even spare a thought to the idea of going to a fashion show, not while he is too busy focusing on the fact that Niccolò invited him to something, that he remembered the conversation they had weeks ago, and thought he would like it.

“Sure. I’d love that.”

Nico’s face lights up. “Yeah? Awesome. I’ll send you the invite so you have the details. And I’ll tell her to get your name on the list, then.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Before Martino can ask anything else, Niccolò disappears back into a hallway and he is left standing by the sink, grinning like an idiot.

As he grabs a towel to dry his cup, it suddenly occurs to him that he has no idea what he’s supposed to wear. Maybe the job is rubbing off on him after all.

Friday night finds him staring at the three shirts he owns laid out on his bed. He still hasn't come to any decision when Elia comes wandering in, a bowl of something that smells delicious in hand. Martino didn’t even know he was home from work.

“What’s happening here? Have they brainwashed you already? I thought you would have put up more of a fight."

"Shut up,” Martino replies reflexively. “Remember the guy I'm working with?"

"Niccolò." He puts down his bowl as he says it and his tone carries an eagerness that brings a smile to Martino’s face. He hadn’t been sure about telling Elia about Nico, or even if there was anything to tell, but so far he hasn't had a chance to regret it yet.

“Yes. He’s going to a friend’s fashion show tonight and he invited me.” When he doesn’t get any kind of response, he looks up from staring at the clothes he already knows by heart. Elia is visibly holding back a grin and what looks like about a hundred jokes at his expense. “Eli, come on. Can you move past the fashion thing? It’s been two months.”

“Hold up, give me a sec, I’m processing. You’re going to a fashion show. This is your life now. Okay, I’m good. Go on.”

“That’s it. He invited me and I just want to make a good impression.” Elia is still studying him and it’s getting unnerving. “What?” He almost barks defensively.

“Nothing. I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you care this much about stuff like that. I kind of want to tag along and see what that guy’s like now.”

Elia is right of course, he doesn’t usually care that much, and that’s probably why he is currently freaking out about clothes so he doesn’t have to focus on anything he hopes might happen tonight.

“I told you, I just want to make a good impression.”

With a nod, but thankfully no more comments, Elia comes to stand next to him and looks down at the shirts. Having another person scrutinizing them is not shining any brighter light on them. “Your wardrobe is so sad.”

“Hey, my clothes are fine.” Getting defensive about his clothes is not usually something Martino makes a habit of, but maybe this really is his life now.

“I can’t believe you work in fashion.”

“So you’ve said. And I do admin work, who cares?”

“Well, doesn’t Niccolò care?”

The question stumps him, because he has no idea. Theoretically, he probably does, he designs clothes for a living, so he must at least notice other people's styles, probably judge them in some way as well, if only compared to what he knows about theory and trends. He even said so himself.

That being said, he has never commented on Martino's clothes, not even that one time he made him wear a dress, a story which Martino _will_ be keeping to himself, otherwise he will never hear the end of it. The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that either Nico won't care and he's worrying over nothing, or he will care, in which case nothing he owns will probably pass muster.

“I'm not sure,” he answers finally.

“Well, he did ask you out knowing how you dress every day, so it probably won't be a big deal.” It's a good point and Martino will take it as reassurance. “In any case, if I were you, I think I'd go with the white shirt. There's no way it can offend anyone who knows about style, right?”

He points at the best shirt Martino owns, the one he invested in last year when he found himself invited to three wedding within six months. Because he's way past the amount of time he should have ever dedicated to the topic, Martino takes the advice. Elia's probably right anyway, and he just wants to move on. He picks up the white shirt.

“Thanks, Eli.”

“But I’m begging you, whatever you do, don’t button it all the way up. You’re not going as my grandpa.” Before Martino can respond, Elia picks up his food and leaves the room with a wave. “Have fun, text if you're not coming home. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

“Dude, do you realize that that innuendo doesn't mean anything coming from you?” Martino calls out after him. The reply comes from the other room.

“It's a first date, Marti, make him work for it a little.”


	5. Friendly faces

When he gets to the club, his name is on the list, like Nico said, and that's never happened to him before. There are people queuing up with hopeful looks on their faces and he gets to just come in. It’s a weird feeling, some of it is pride, some it is shame at finding pride in having his name on a list. He'd almost feel guilty about how out of place he is if he wasn't very much looking forward to the evening. And not the fashion show part of the evening, although he is curious about that.

Inside, a DJ is playing music in the background while people wait for the actual show to begin, mingle and enjoy the cheap cocktails promised by the invitation. The place is far from packed yet, but there are enough people that groups have formed and that he has to take a turn of the room and glance from one to the other to find Niccolò. He spots him not far from the stage, where he is in a conversation with two other people. He notices Martino almost right away and points to the direction of the bar with a series of gestures that he interprets to mean “I'll be right there.” Martino waves in confirmation, responds to the smile that grew on Nico's face when he saw him and heads to the bar, his chest tightening in anticipation.

He orders a beer because he doesn't think he can deal with saying some of the names that have been given to the cocktails offered for the occasion out loud. The thought crosses his mind that Filippo would have eaten the whole thing up and he decides to text him a picture of the décor. Just because he owes Filippo for the job, it doesn't mean he can't make him just a little bit jealous.

“Marti! You’re out from behind your computer,” a voice interrupts as he's about to type a caption.

Martino turns around to find an unexpected friendly face in a sea of strangers.

“Eva? Hi.”

She settles herself against the bar next to him, and he doesn't really get a chance to recover from his surprise before she speaks again.

“I had no idea you were coming. Are you finally embracing the fashion world? You know, I told Ele you would eventually, but she didn't believe me. I never thought it would be so easy, though.”

Martino barely registers her words, and not just because the room keeps filling up with new people while the noise level climbs steadily. First, he needs an answer to the question that is on his mind.

“Do you also know the girl who's doing the show?”

Eva frowns and takes a second to reply.

“What? No, Nico invited me. Fede and Sana are on their way as well. Why?”

“Oh.”

The word comes out of its own accord, and he can hear how disappointed it sounds. Apparently, he's not the only one, because Eva is now studying him, and Martino is reminded how much he hates that he wears all his emotions on his sleeve. He turns back to the bar, hoping she won’t have time to read whatever his expression is doing. Unfortunately, Eva's field of expertise is communication, so he's pretty much screwed.

“Didn’t you know he invited everybody?” She asks, almost cautiously.

“No, of course he did. You all work in fashion, so this is your scene. It makes sense.” He knows he’s overcompensating, but the damage is already done.

“Marti, did you think it was going to be just the two of you?” There is too much noise to really identify the emotion in her voice, but realization is written all over her face, and it's now too late to do anything about it.

He shrugs because he doesn't think he could deal with admitting it out loud. She puts a hand on his arm, which might actually be worse because he really doesn’t need her pity right now. Luckily, the bartender places his beer in front of him with perfect timing, so he has a pretext to focus back on the bar. He might have to resolve himself to order one of the cocktails, because he's no longer sure the beer will be enough to cover his embarrassment. Of course Nico wasn’t asking him out, he was just including the new guy in his invitation because he’s a decent human being and they’re sort of friends. Martino has a sudden urge to go home and let Elia destroy him at video games, which would still feel better than realizing how stupid he’s been.

And then, things take a turn for the even worse because somebody claps him on the shoulder and Nico is suddenly here, his arms wrapped around both him and Eva.

“Hey, guys, you both came!”

Eva glances towards Martino who begs her mentally with everything he has not to say anything. That degree in communication must kick in again, because she simply asks Nico where his friend is. He lets go of Eva to turn around while, Martino can't help but notice, keeping his right arm on his shoulders as he searches the crowd, then points at someone. Eva definitely notices as well and she gives him a meaningful look before following where he's pointing and starting a conversation that takes them far, far away from any topic he doesn’t want to get into.

As Niccolò moves to point to something else in the crowd, a movement of fabric catches Martino's attention. He looks down and his breath catches in his throat briefly as he realizes that Nico is wearing a skirt. It's plain, knee-length and of a dark color he can't identify in this light, nothing fancy, but a skirt nonetheless. Nico and Eva are still busy looking behind them so they don't pay attention to him, which is a good thing for now, because he needs a second to wrap his mind around it. It's so unexpected, despite their conversation, that he cannot quite stop staring. It takes him several long seconds to admit to himself that he never in his life thought he could be so attracted to somebody in a skirt.

His attention is forcibly dragged away when Federica and Sana get here not long after, and he pushes the thought away for now. They find a table in a dark corner where they take their drinks before the show begins. Eva slips into the seat next to Martino, who is worried for a second about her intentions. She doesn't mention Nico, though, and makes him talk about himself instead. Since she went to high school with Covitti’s sister, they somehow end up trash talking the siblings for a while, and it feels cathartic in a way Martino never knew he needed.

After she has drained the last drops of her cocktail, she ends up telling him about the guy she was seeing for a while who had turned out not only to be married, but married to one of the most influential fashion journalists in Rome. She doesn't bother lowering her voice that much, so he has to assume they all knew already. Of course, even if it never made the mainstream media like Silvia's story had, it must have been hard to keep from the rest of the fashion world. Martino's been in a similar enough position to feel for her losing the very promising job she had only just started for something that wasn't even her fault.

When the DJ stops playing, a murmur moves through the crowd as the band take their place and the projectors turn their focus to the stage. Martino shakes off what is left of the disappointment and when the others stand up to go find a better vantage point, he lets himself be dragged through the crowd along with them.

They all watch the show together, and it feels really nice. Martino ends up squeezed between Eva and Sana in the middle of the crowd, and he keeps glancing between their expressions and what is happening on the stage. They sometimes exchange comments or points things to one another, and even though they don't address any of them to him, there is a sense of camaraderie to the whole thing, to the five of them sticking close together because they're all representing Brava in this moment.

By the time the main event is over, Martino would be hard-pressed to remember more than a blur of color and patterns all blending together. The others scatter one by one as they find familiar faces or are approached by people who know they work for Brava. In the end, when he's the only one who hasn't been dragged into a conversation on one fine point or another of the collection they've just seen, he heads back to the outskirts of the room and leans against a wall to finish his drink.

He's lost in thoughts, observing the people milling around, the models who have now come down to parade around and the members of the audience who must be designers themselves wearing their own creations and trying to make sense of what he sees when Niccolò finds him.

"You’re on your own?"

"Yes, everybody else found people they had to talk to."

"Sorry about that,” Niccolò says with an apologetic smile, “There’s always somebody to talk to, we forget how to turn it off."

"I guess as the person with access to the bank accounts, I can't complain about it,” he teases because he hasn't minded being left alone. The official show may be over but there’s still as much to see, if not more, now that the lights are no longer focused solely on the stage.

"Are you having fun at least?" Nico asks.

“Sure.”

Niccolò pauses, grins and tilts his head to the side. “Are you lying?”

“No, I'm not lying, I swear. Thanks for inviting me, it was pretty cool.”

“It was high time you started doing your part of the PR as well,” Niccolò says fake sternly.

“I don't think that was in my job description, actually.”

“It's expected, Marti.”

Somebody bumps into Nico as he's about to continue his sentence, and while both of them apologize to each other, Martino's eyes are drawn back to the skirt he’s wearing. Now that they're standing in a corner that has marginally better lighting than the rest of the club, he starts staring again. It looks like it might be black, but it is hard to tell with the way the colored spotlights occasionally shine on it. Of course, he's being so obvious, Niccolò notices once the person who bumped into him leaves, but he doesn't say anything, just looks at him, and when Martino finally manages to tear his eyes away, he sees that he looks mostly amused.

“So you really do wear skirts,” is all Martino can say, but it seems not to have been too bad a choice, because Nico huffs a laugh.

“You didn’t believe me?"

Martino had, oddly enough, not actually given it that much thought after they had gone their separate ways that night, but he clearly should have. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” he admits.

“And what do you think?”

It takes a conscientious effort not to stare again, but Martino manages to limit himself to a glance. He weighs for a second how honest he can be before deciding that he may have misunderstood what tonight was, but it doesn't mean he's entirely wrong about how requited his feelings might be.

"Are you planning on throwing some trunks later?"

"Who knows? The night's still young. You didn’t answer my question.”

“I think it looks good on you,” he replies truthfully, but not quite as boldly as he could have. “But I could never pull it off.”

“Do you want to pull it off?” Nico asks without flinching, and what a loaded question that is. So loaded that he cannot figure out if there is a right answer to it. If he says “no”, well, that would be a lie if he considers the question in its most literal meaning. On the other hand, he doesn't want to risk saying “yes” and somehow ending up wearing another dress either.

The silence stretches, although it must not be for as long as it feels to Martino, and Nico doesn't move or take his eyes off of him. He opens his mouth to answer, not sure what is going to come out of it when Eva materializes in front of them. She has somebody in tow who Niccolò absolutely has to meet. In the blink of an eye, Nico has turned away and is shaking hands with them while Eva rambles about the show and Martino is only half-listening to her. She doesn't seem to realize that she's interrupted a moment that had felt significant, which, although Martino is disappointed, is probably best in this situation.

Not long after that, Federica and Sana come back one after the other, and Nico disentangles himself from his conversation, and it goes back to being all five of them, as if nothing had happened. Nothing has, Martino supposes, if he considers the situation objectively, but it had seemed like it could have. Any obligations fulfilled, they move back towards the bar where Martino proceeds to do shots with Federica while Sana is either cheering them on or making fun of them, he can’t quite tell. He had disabused Federica of the notion that she could expect anything from him about two weeks in, and she had taken it much better than Emma, or even her brother, had. The innuendos have not quite stopped because that is just the way she speaks, but the blatant flirting and most importantly the looks have, and she is easy to get on with. She can also, he discovers, hold her liquor much better than he can.

The DJ comes back and they dance until they can’t stand anymore and have to drag themselves to catch taxis to their respective neighborhoods with warm wishes of good night and for Martino, for all that he still only deals with administrative tasks, the feeling that he might belong with these people. By the time he gets home, any disappointment has been long forgotten and replaced by joyful memories and a hopeful feeling about the possibility of picking things up where he and Nico had left them off at a later point, maybe in a near future.


	6. The last word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, leaving kudos, commenting 💙  
> 

Somehow, at an undetermined point during the weekend, Martino must accidentally turn off his usual alarm, because he jerks awake on Monday to realize he’s late, which is how he ends up mid-morning in the kitchen with some biscuits he bought in a panic on his way to work. Nothing too urgent seems to require his immediate attention so he is attempting to have a late breakfast and to get rid of the residual jitters so he can kick off his week properly despite his none-too-smooth start. His coffee has barely had time to cool down enough to be drinkable when somebody sits down in the chair in front of him.

“So, you like Nico?” Now, Eva doesn’t seem like the type to mindlessly blurt out private information within earshot of anyone, but secrecy has been engrained in him for so long that he glances to the door over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, everybody’s upstairs. They're having a meeting.”

“Shouldn't you be there as well? Should I?” He adds, briefly wondering if he's missed a reminder or something, and rather grateful at the chance to delay answering.

“No, don’t worry, it's actual fashion stuff. And I don't need to be in that one either. Ele can handle it.”

She doesn't repeat her question, but it is still hanging in the air and in the visible curiosity that shines through her eyes.

“Why do you ask?” He’s torn between the knee-jerk habit of avoiding nosy questions and curiosity as to where she might be going with this, so he compromises by not quite answering but not completely deflecting either.

“You seemed disappointed when I showed up on Friday,” she explains, indulging him despite the fact that they both know the answer. “And that hurt, Marti.” She places a hand to her heart and makes a sad face for good measure.

“I just misunderstood.” This still does not answer her question, but she nods anyway.

At first, she doesn’t seem to have any follow-up, so Martino guesses the conversation is over and he takes a bite of a biscuit, a decision which he will come to regret almost immediately.

“You're not trying to fuck with him, are you?” Luckily for both of them, his mouth is full so he can’t answer that, but Eva’s eyes widen briefly at her own poor choice of words before she starts laughing at what he assumes is an offended expression on his face. “Actually, don't answer that.”

With a glare, he attempts to convey that he never intended to and could not even if he wanted to. Once he’s managed to swallow his food and recover the power of speech, she makes another, more diplomatic, attempt.

“Sorry, I meant, you're not going to mess with him?”

“What makes you think I would tell you if I did?”

His tone comes off a little snappish, which he doesn’t think is completely unwarranted, but she doesn’t seem deterred by it in the slightest.

“You know, that's funny, but after Friday night, I have a feeling you might not be a very good liar, so I thought I might give it a shot.” The smile on her face tells him that she's teasing, but the way she's still looking at him intently seems to imply that her question also comes from a place of concern.

“Why do you care so much?” He returns, with a nod in her direction.

It's not that he’s jealous exactly, because Eva has so far given no sign that she might be into Nico as well, but he hadn't noticed that they seemed particularly close either.

“Well, because he’s my friend and he's had a really rough time already. I assume he told you a little bit about what happened.” She waits until he half-nods, half-shrugs in confirmation because he only knows what little Nico told him on his first week. “And also because I know what it’s like to think you can trust someone only to have it blow up in your face.”

Now that his coffee has cooled down, Martino takes a sip as he ponders her words. The way she says it, so plainly yet so meaningfully, leaves him with no doubt that if he were to mess with Nico, which is the opposite of what he wants, he would probably have to answer for it in front of all of Brava. He doesn't think he's ever worked with anybody who would have been so fiercely ready to protect him, with the notable exception of Filippo, who was one of a kind in many ways. The thought leaves him with a faint sort of ache, but strangely, he also finds some comfort in the idea that if he plays his cards right, they may one day feel the same way about him.

“I don't want to mess with him,” he finally tells her, hoping that his tone will be enough to convince her. He chooses to take her answering smile as approval, or at least encouragement. By now, he should probably get to his actual work and she doesn’t seem to have any reason to have popped into the kitchen except to talk to him, but now that he’s started, he is tempted to see if she might have any insights on the subject. He's mentioned Nico and some of his hesitations to his friends already, but Eva knows Nico. Even though he is convinced that she won't delve into anything private, he may be able to garner a reaction from her that will tell him whether or not he is setting himself up for disappointment.

“The thing is that I thought I could usually tell when people might be interested in me. But this time, I’m not so sure.” She looks up from her phone where she had started scrolling through something and considers him with interest. When she remains quiet, he continues. “Every time I thought there might be something, it never went anywhere.” He pauses, but still nothing. “I know you won't tell me anything...” Just in case, he trails off with a meaningful look that only gets him more silence and the hint of a smile. “But I can't tell if he might feel the same.”

She puts down her phone slowly and takes a deep breath while apparently deliberating her answer. “You know, there’s one sure way of knowing.”

“Are you going to say that I should just ask him?”

The smile breaks out fully on her face. “Ah, see? You already knew the trick.”

He's almost done with his coffee and she stands up, ready to head out, but he just can't let her have the last word on this.

“Well, thanks for clearing that up.”

“You're welcome.”

Niccolò is out of the office on Monday, and Martino will be spending most of his Tuesday at the production lines just outside of the city. After his conversation with Eva, he decides that it gives him three days to make up his mind to talk to Nico and gain certainty, and hopefully maybe a date in the bargain. He tries not to think of the alternative.

Wednesday seems like it could be a good candidate, except Niccolò, Federica and Silvia are all working together on something and Martino would rather not have an audience. He also has a deadline to meet, so the day passes by quickly and no opportune time presents itself. He has almost resolved to drop it and wait until tomorrow when Silvia and Federica walk past his office and wish him a good evening. It seems like as good a time as any.

Upstairs, he finds Nico still sitting at his computer, and they make the usual small talk about their day while Martino tries to find the suitable segue to jump into what brought him here. It presents itself barely five minutes later as Niccolò tells him about a potential supplier who had insisted on having drinks in a bar instead of coming to Brava for a more formal meeting.

“So, the company paid for his drinks and I wasted almost an hour on this guy just for him to sneak out while I was in the bathroom,” Nico concludes his story with a resigned gesture.

As far as openings go, he doesn’t think he’s going to find anything better than that, so he takes it.

“Speaking of which, there’s a new bar that opened recently near San Cosimato. I've heard they make really good cocktails.” Nico nods, but doesn’t really seem to be registering what he is asking. “Do you want to try it out? Just you and me,” he feels compelled to add, not eager to risk any new misunderstanding. “Maybe Friday, if you're not busy?”

His meaning finally hits Niccolò, who simply looks surprised at first. A smile is already forming on Martino’s lips because although it might not have been the reaction he had been hoping for, it seems like a positive beginning. At least, it does until Niccolò briefly looks away from him and his expression closes off.

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

The smile disappears in a blink while a knot forms in Martino's gut. Maybe he should in fact have taken a moment to consider the alternative, because he doesn't know what to do now. Embarrassment washes over him and he attempts to the best of his ability not to let it show.

“Okay,” he splutters, missing the mark for a smooth recovery. He crosses his arms in an attempt to give himself some kind of countenance, although he’s not sure which one he’s going for. He’s not sure of much anymore.

“It just that, you know,” Nico starts, and his words are rushing out as if he wanted to explain himself, “dating somebody from work, it hasn’t worked out great for me in the past.”

The urge to smack himself for his own cluelessness is strong, but not strong as Martino’s desire to preserve at least a shred of his dignity. It does seem obvious now that, after having his career endangered by a bad breakup, Nico wouldn’t want to go down that road again. “Of course. I’m sorry, I should have thought about that.”

“No, Marti, I’m sorry,” Niccolò replies, leaning over in his chair, and looking obviously contrite. He has his hands on the armrests, poised to stand up, so Martino takes a step back as he starts considering beating a strategic retreat in the very, very near future.

“Don't be, I get it. Sorry,” he repeats. The image of a future of awkward interactions start to take shape in his mind and he attempts to shake it off. It’s not a train of thought he wants to indulge in, even if it is a real possibility, so he decides that leaving is his best option. “I’ll let you get back to it, then.”

Martino has no idea how to clear the air and he hates how helpless it makes him feel. He takes another step back but bumps into a mannequin he hadn’t noticed when he had come in, a matter of minutes ago, before the words he wishes he could take back came out of his mouth. Grabbing the mannequin’s shoulder to steady it, his eyes wander over to the sweater it is wearing. The color is a warm and comforting maroon and under his fingers, the material feels just as soft as it looks. Desperate for something, anything to say that isn’t another platitude, he goes for the first thing that comes through his mind to break the heavy silence in the room. “I like that fabric.”

Nico is still watching him, and he usually has a pretty expressive face, one that Martino tends to be endlessly charmed by, but in that moment, he doesn't know how to read it anymore, not when it seems he had been so wrong before. He turns around and he’s walking out the door when he hears a “Wait” behind him, but it seems safer to pretend he can’t hear it, to keep walking down, to pick up all his stuff and leave before he makes more a fool of himself, before Nico tries to bring it up, or worse, apologize again, before the relationship they have, whatever it is, is irremediably damaged.


	7. You did it wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, we're randomly switching POV because there are no rules here. Yes, it will happen again. No, I'm not telling you when.

The fact that it is so closely tied to math is Niccolò’s least favorite part about design, the one thing that takes up so much space in his life. It is necessary to the process, he gets that, and his job doesn’t even require rocket scientist-levels of skills and yet, it is also the surest way to completely suck the fun out of it. How ironic, then, that the person currently distracting him from his calculations deals with numbers for a living.

Martino’s been avoiding him. It took him about two days to be certain of it, but the place isn’t big enough for there to be an actual chance of not even catching a glimpse of someone, unless that someone doesn’t want to be seen. Since it only took him about two months to ruin that relationship, the very least he can do is let Martino have that space. The saddest thing is that it doesn’t even take that much effort to make himself scarce. He can’t even convince himself that Martino just hasn’t been to the office, because the others have mentioned him. On Monday, he even comes downstairs to find Eva taking her lunch into his office. She gives him a small, almost apologetic, smile and closes the door behind her.

They’ve all noticed something is going on, of course, because Brava is just that small and when two out of seven people are not talking to each other, it is hard to miss. They’re also all kindly not mentioning it, which makes the silence around the topic even more deafening.

With a sigh and a failed attempt at refocusing his thoughts on adding measurements, Niccolò ruminates the fact that it had been so much easier not having to really think about this thing with Martino when neither of them was doing anything about it. And then, Martino had to go and be braver than he was and Niccolò can’t even blame him for that.

One second, not even that, it was all he had given himself to make a decision with Martino standing in front of him, smiling and hopeful, with an offer of drinks that they both knew was so much more than that. He could either break the one rule he had set for himself after the last disaster – and wasn’t the fact that there hadn’t been a new disaster since then proof that it was working – or deprive himself of something he wanted and hurt Martino in the process.

So, he had decided and now they weren’t talking anymore. He had spent so long thinking about what could happen if he took a risk on somebody he worked with again that he had not considered the consequences of not doing it. Not considering the consequences was what usually led to disasters, and yet this still felt like one.

In the past, he would have, and actually had, run with the risk of ending up into yet another brick wall, but not anymore, not after having to rebuild his entire life last time. After working towards this career for so long and against so many people, he’s tired of having to fight for it. Deep down, a part of him is adamant that Martino would never set out to destroy everything he’s built out of spite. The rest of him, though, knows he might not be able to get back from that.

Some days, it seems like whatever the question is, he never manages to get the answer right, which is not unlike how he used to feel in math class, he muses as his eyes find the pattern whose area he should be calculating. It may have been a wiser, or safer, or more reasonable decision, it still feels wrong. But his instincts have also lied to him so many times before. So, basically, all that is left for him to do is try to convince himself of the fact that he may have done them both a favor in the long run. He hopes he believes it one day.

He has been staring unseeingly at his screen for far too long when he becomes aware of a presence hovering by his right elbow. Federica is leaning against his desk with a bright grin and engaging demeanor that immediately piques his interest.

"Nico, my friend, you're looking particularly good today."

As an opening, it’s pretty promising. Clearly, she needs something from him, so the chances are high that he will end up on the winning side of whatever is about to happen. More than a little glad to be distracted from his distraction, he fully turns around in his chair to face her.

“What do you want?”

“How would you feel about the amazing opportunity to save yourself a four-hour train journey?” She asks with an enthusiasm that she must have borrowed straight from a shopping network.

“That really depends on what you’re about to say next, but you’ve got my attention.”

Behind Federica, Sana is cutting up a pattern and her eyes may be on her work but the upturned corners of her mouth mean she is not missing a word of what’s being said.

“I need you to swap with me,” Federica says, getting to her point remarkably quickly.

“Swap what?” He repeats, feeling like he’s missed a step somewhere.

“You usually go to Turin to see Chicco Rodi, right?”

“Yes.” Niccolò answers cautiously, intent on remaining circumspect until he has all relevant information.

“I want to swap you Chicco for Pia. She’s in Ciampino, so that’s super close and you won’t have to go all the way up north. Plus, Pia’s great, so it’s only a win-win for you.”

He has only met Pia once or twice when she came to visit them, but he does agree with Federica’s assessment of her. She is also one of their oldest and most trusted partners so the visits are more of a formality anyway. That would also spare him the semiregular interminable trips just to talk to the weird guy that supplies them with most of their accessories. He’s never minded the travel that much until recently when not having to be away from Rome for entire days, sometimes longer, had started to appear as a more and more attractive idea. Although the past few days might have changed his willingness to be here more often if it is just to spend the time avoiding Martino

He almost says yes right then and there until he realizes that it does sound like a really good deal. Maybe too good a deal.

“I’m fine with it, but why do you want to go all the way up there instead of just to Ciampino?”

Federica pauses and glances towards Sana, who studiously continues with her cutting while she prompts, “Go on, tell him why.”

“Okay, don’t judge,” Federica begins.

Niccolò is starting to have an inkling as to what is happening and a grin grows on his face.

“Why do you want to go see the button guy, Fede?”

“Listen, I know he comes off as weird and he has very questionable marketing ideas that actually sort of work, but he’s also kinda cute.”

“Is he?” Nico addresses the question to Sana, who makes a very eloquent face and still doesn’t look up.

“Hey, just because he’s not your type, doesn’t mean he isn’t. It takes all sorts, guys. And what even is your type?” She directs her question to Niccolò.

He thinks about it for a second and can’t help but notice that Sana has put down her paper and is looking in his direction.

“I don’t have a type,” he says in what he hopes is a definite tone.

Sana goes back to her cutting and Federica moves past the statement without comment, back to her original purpose.

“Please, Nico. We met a couple of times and we really hit it off. Silvia said you already swapped with her a few times, so I know you don’t mind. The thing with Martino was a bust, let me have that at least.”

He knows she’s exaggerating for dramatic effect because it’s been months since Martino had made it clear to her he wasn’t interested, and back then Niccolò had refused to examine too closely the shameful joy that he had felt when she had recounted it. Still, that, even more than the rest, is what makes him take pity on her because it is a feeling he is well-acquainted with. Less time on trains and talking to a guy he never really managed to understand, and more time in Rome, it does sound like a win-win.

“Fine, you can have the button guy.”

Federica lets out a loud cheer and engulfs him into a hug before she goes to high-five Sana who has started clapping for her. They lean together over the patterns and start whispering to each other. Niccolò can’t hear what it is about, although he can guess, but he watches them laughing together for a moment, as affection slowly takes over some of the space occupied by his ruminations from earlier. When he turns his attention back to his laptop, he almost doesn’t mind it that much when his eyes fall on his geometric formulas. Almost.

Whenever she has important meetings or deadlines, Eva has a tendency to spend her nights stress-baking instead of getting much-needed sleep. It’s probably not great for her in the long term, it certainly doesn’t benefit her patience levels or her mood. It is, however, greatly to the advantage of everybody at Brava because whatever she produces usually ends up on the kitchen table for anybody who wants a piece.

Thursday finds Niccolò and Eva sharing the leftovers of her latest creation, a slightly-burnt walnut cake that had still had no problem disappearing over the course of the morning. He had originally only come down to get something to drink and stretch his legs but she had offered to split with him, which makes him suspect that she has something to say. His suspicions are soon confirmed when she casually brings up Martino.

“He doesn’t hate you,” she insists once he's summed up his own conclusions on the matter, but Niccolò remains unconvinced. It must show on his face, because she nudges his shin with her foot under the table. “He doesn’t. Give him a minute and he’ll be fine.”

“It’s been a week.”

She sits back in her seat and makes a dismissive gesture. “More than a minute, then. He’ll get over it. Trust me.”

Other than himself, Eva is probably the person here that Martino is the closest to. If she is so determined to make him believe her, she must have a reason for it. Or he just desperately wants her to be right.

“No, I fucked up again.” The words slip out even though he hadn’t quite settled on whether he actually wanted to say them out loud. They’ve been weighing on his mind since he noticed the date on his phone and realized it was the first time he had gone an entire week without speaking to Martino.

Eva gives him a sympathetic look. “Of course not. You didn’t fuck up. Not now and not before either.”

He really doesn’t want to talk about before, now is already more than enough for him today. There are some territories he doesn’t want to venture on when he’s already preoccupied with something and he knows how to deflect when they loom on the horizon.

“Not ever?” He teases.

Luckily, she takes the hint, even though they both know he hasn’t duped her. “Not once, because you are absolutely perfect.” She may be playing along, but her tone is not quite as sarcastic as it should be and he isn’t sure what to make of it.

“I’d say the same for you, but, you know…”

She kicks him this time, not quite hard enough to hurt, but enough that he startles and drops the cake that was already halfway through his mouth.

“Asshole. See if I try to cheer you up.” She barely gets the last word out before her eyes quickly jump to the kitchen door, right behind him. “Hey, Marti.”

Niccolò snaps around to see that Martino is indeed standing there, looking between them in amusement. The possibility that Eva might have had a point seems even more tangible now, because if he does hate him, he’s doing a really good job of hiding it. “Hey, guys.”

Martino makes his way across the small room to empty a mug into the sink. Whatever was in there, it looks terrible and smells even worse.

“What the hell is that?” Eva asks, her nose wrinkling in disgust.

“I tried to use some of the syrups and stuff that you brought in to add to coffee. You know, to try something new.” He says the last part in a pointed manner that seems directed at Eva. She and Niccolò are both staring at the sink where some of the brownish mixture has stuck to the sides.

“And you made that?” Niccolò asks, and he would not have expected for this to be the first thing he says to Martino in seven days, but he will gladly jump at the chance. Martino grins.

“Yes, that’s why I like it better black.” Again, he directs the comment to Eva, who is a vocal supporter of adding all sorts of flavors to her coffee.

“I think you did it wrong,” Eva comments.

“It’s just mixing stuff up, how can you do that wrong?”

“I don’t know, but clearly you did. Why does it even smell like that? We don’t have anything that could do _that._ ” Eva points out, looking personally offended at the idea.

“It may have sat on my desk for a day or two,” Martino replies hesitantly.

“Why?”

“To see if I could grow a new life-form in it.” Eva gives him a look. “Because I didn’t want to deal with it, why do you think? I know I probably shouldn’t have left it that long.” Niccolò may be reading too much into things, but this time, Martino glances at him and it feels as pointed as his previous comments about coffee. Eva looks between the two of them as well, so he mustn’t have imagined it. She’s the one who breaks the brief silence that threatens to weigh over all three of them.

“Either way, you’re cleaning that sink because that stuff looks like it could get into the sewer and turn into some kind of villain from _Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles_.” This time, Niccolò and Martino both stare at her.

“Oh, do share your Ninja Turtles expertise,” Niccolò says, not hiding the delight in his voice.

Unfortunately, a voice interrupts them, calling out from Eleonora’s office. “Eva, could you come over? I need you.”

“I bet she does,” Niccolò says under his breath.

Eva retaliates by snagging the plate with the leftover cake and stands up. “I’m cutting you off and you’ll never get to hear about my expertise.”

She squeezes Martino’s arm briefly and then steps out, leaving the two of them looking at the sink in silence. Martino starts washing out his mug using copious amounts of soap.

“I haven’t seen you around much lately,” Niccolò eventually comments, hoping that the casual tone he’s going for doesn’t sound too rehearsed.

“No, I’ve been busy. You know how it gets sometimes.”

Niccolò nods because he understands only too well how it probably got.

“But everything’s okay?” He can’t stop himself from asking. It’s been a week and he needs to be sure that Eva was actually right to insist that the relationship might still be salvaged.

Martino puts down the mug to look at him and he smiles, not that brightly, not that big, but full of sincerity. “Sure, everything’s good.”

Niccolò exhales in relief. Only a week ago, the occasional silence between them had never felt awkward. He doesn’t want that to change but now that they no longer have a buffer to keep the conversation moving, he isn’t sure whether it would be best to address or ignore the elephant that is standing in the doorway, threatening to burst in.

“By the way, you never did tell me what happened to that dress,” Martino says as he wipes his hand on his jeans.

“What dress?” Niccolò replies absentmindedly as he can’t stop looking at Martino as if they hadn’t seen each other in months instead of days. When he doesn’t get an answer, he notices that Martino is giving him a look and he connects the dots. “Oh, the one you...” He falters for a fraction of a second, not enough for it to be noticeable hopefully, suddenly self-conscious about what his next words are going to be. Flirting with Martino has always come way too easily. Everything comes easily with him, or it used to. Back when they weren’t talking about the flirting, the looks or the charged silences, he was more than happy to let it be construed as teasing. Now he doesn’t want whatever he says to make Martino think he’s making fun of him or toying with him. In the end, he settles for: “The one you modeled for?”

At the nod he receives in answer, he searches his memory for which stage of the process it could have reached by now. It can be hard sometimes to keep track of the exact status of everything. “I think we’re still making some last adjustments, but it should be out for fall. Why? Do you want one set aside?”

Martino scrunches up his face as he pretends to think about it. “Hm, thanks, I think I’ll pass.”

He’s been down here long enough and he should probably get back upstairs, Martino looks like he hadn’t meant to do more than wash up his cup either, because he’s just leaning against the sink again and yet it’s so tempting to linger and catch up on lost time. But everything’s good and they've got time ahead of them for that again, he’s sure of it now. So, he stands up and Martino straightens up, almost expectantly.

“I should get back to it,” Niccolò offers.

“Oh, right. Me, too, I guess.”

“See you later, then.” He can’t help the interrogative lilt to his question, but Martino is smiling again and gives him a decided nod in answer. On his way up the stairs, Niccolò feels ten pounds lighter. Maybe he really didn’t fuck up this time. Maybe they can be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We were robbed of a great Fede/Chicco Rodi romance is all I'm saying.


	8. Impulse control

Having been handed everybody's life stories on a platter his very first week at Brava and given that his coworkers are usually pretty forthcoming when talking about themselves, Martino tends to believe that he's got a pretty good grasp of who they are by now. He might not know everything, but he is aware of what kind of people they are and of the main facts about them. At least, that was the impression that he was under.

One afternoon, he sets off in search for Eleonora to ask her for clarification. It should not take him too long, he knows she's here today because she came to check on her plant earlier and issued a disapproving warning not to water it quite so often. All he has to do is cross the hallway, get his answer and come back. Easy. Except that Eleonora is not in her office.

Now, there is only a limited number of places she can be, so still easy so far. He begins with the closest and most obvious possibility, Eva’s office right next door. Her door is open, but as soon as he reaches it and catches sight of the scene inside, he stops with one foot barely in the doorway, only to take a step back so he can peek inside without attracting attention. The desk is turned to face the window and they are both looking at the computer screen, so they can't see him, but if they turn around or somebody decides to come down the stairs, he will be caught red-handed like the world’s most pathetic voyeur.

Eva points at her screen while she continues her hushed conversation with Eleonora who is standing at her shoulder. The whispers, only intended for them, already gives a strangely intimate atmosphere to the scene, despite the fact that the pictures in front of them seem to be from their next promotional campaign. The real kicker, though, what makes Martino's stomach clench, is when Eva, still focused on the screen, reaches behind for Eleonora's hand without even looking at her to entwine their fingers together as they pursue their conversation. The gesture looks so familiar, clearly honed by practice and repetition, so loving in its simplicity, that any word he might have uttered to draw their attention dies in his throat. When Eva finally turns around, Eleonora leans in even closer to her and they exchange a look, one that lingers longer than absolutely necessary, then laugh together, and he decides that his question can wait.

Oddly uneasy, Martino heads back to his office, wondering if he was supposed to have figured out that they weren't just partners in business, and sends Ele an email instead. Her answer appears in his inbox just over two minutes later.

When he thinks about it throughout the day – and he thinks about it too much to blame his reaction on surprise alone – he cannot figure out why the scene made such an impression on him. He wants to chalk it up to feeling caught off guard at walking in on them and maybe to his obliviousness at not realizing that Eleonora and Eva were a couple. However, as he tries to get on with his work, the shape of the feeling starts to sharpen and become recognizable. It feels a lot like envy, tinged with something like loneliness.

Martino doesn't usually consider himself lonely, because how could he be? He lives with one of his best friends, and the other one is just a short metro ride away. They see each other almost every week. He’s spent almost his entire life in Rome, long enough to know and be in good terms with people all over the city. Since he graduated, he's made tentative peace with his dad and his new family and most days, he does love visiting his mom. It hasn't always been the case in the past, but he gets on with everybody at work by now. So no, he's not lonely exactly. He just misses being in a relationship. Since his last attempt at asking someone out, he has been trying to move past it and fight the temptation to wallow, but the memory is not so easy to dispel.

That being said, and it should probably not have surprised him, he finds it oddly easy to be Niccolò’s friend once they are past the brief, initial awkwardness. Martino will never admit it to her, but he is grateful for Eva’s presence in the kitchen that day which spared him having to find a way to break the ice. After almost a week of holing up in his office and licking his wounds, the forced isolation had begun to feel more like he was punishing himself. His friends had apparently agreed and after commiserating for a bit, had wondered if his solution was to never talk to Nico again and how exactly he planned on achieving that. That prospect had not seemed appealing at all, so when he had recognized the voices coming from down the hallway, he had decided it was time to go back to a semblance of normalcy. And way past time to rid his office of the disgustingly sweet smell of his failed coffee experiment.

There hadn’t been any judgment or discomfort in Niccolò’s expression, he had even seemed genuinely relieved to know that they were fine, so any doubt Martino might have still harbored about picking up where they had left off fizzled out quickly enough. By then, they’ve had over two months of practice at being friends, and it’s easier to go back to that than to pretend like he's okay with not talking to Nico. From the start, he has found it almost natural to get along with Nico for all that they may not seem to have a lot in common at first glance. They understand each other without trying too hard, but they’re not similar to the point of boring each other.

Sure, Martino being completely over the rejection is more something he tells himself than a fact at this point, but he’s got a tight lid on his feelings, he’s pretty sure of it. It certainly helps that Nico either doesn’t date, even outside of work, or is extremely private about it, at least with him. If he ever broaches the topic with the others, he never does in front of Martino, who appreciates it. He very graciously doesn’t mention the source of the awkwardness either. It makes it all the easier to swallow the embarrassment and just let the bruise slowly fade. Time heals all wounds, as his mom liked to say when he was younger. If time healed some of hers, maybe it will work on his as well.

So, they’re friends, and it’s good, and yet Martino can’t help but notice that sometimes, when they’re in the middle of a conversation, Nico will look like he’s about to say something and from his expression, it’s going to be some kind of joke at his expense, but then he seems to think it over and the teasing doesn’t come. Every time it happens Martino has a fraction of a second where he regrets ever saying anything. The conversation keeps going, and from an outsider’s point of view, it would probably be impossible to tell the difference in their relationship, but the fact that Niccolò feels there are some things he can no longer say in front of him is crushing.

Some nights, when his thoughts wanders before he falls asleep, Martino remembers the last time he had had feelings for one of his friends. Back then, in high school, he had handled it in the worst possible way and deep down, some part of him is terrified of doing it again. But he is older now, and Nico isn’t Gio. Feelings had passed all those years ago, so there is no reason why they shouldn’t pass now. If he had to decide, he would definitely classify being friends with Nico among the positives in his life, but it is the combination of everything, the good and the bad, that leads Martino to start mulling things over.

This is how he finds himself one night, just a few days after walking in on Eleonora and Eva, after Niccolò had once again chosen to swallow what he was about to say earlier in the day, mindlessly scrolling through Facebook. He never checks it that much anymore, but Elia’s not home and he’s bored, restless and there’s this hollow feeling in his chest that he is doing his best to ignore as he catches up on the lives of people he lost touch with a long time ago. He refreshes his feed while telling himself that now might be a good time to stop and maybe start thinking about what to make for dinner when a new memory appears at the top of his timeline that happens to have been shared by Mattia.

It is a picture of the party where they had met, three years ago, that he has captioned “A night to remember” followed by a heart. The words tick him off at first, but Mattia had always been oversentimental like that. He probably isn’t even aware that they’re still friends on here. And truly, who is Martino to begrudge him his sentimentality when here he is, feeling sorry for himself because one guy said no to a drink with only minimal consequences to their relationship and his two bosses seem to be in a happy, loving relationship? He likes the photo without thinking much about it and closes Facebook.

Barely five minutes later, as he is going down a Wikipedia spiral to keep himself from looking up Niccolò again, he gets a notification from Messenger. It is, of course, from Mattia.

It doesn’t take very long before they make plans to check out that new bar in San Cosimato the next day. Martino ignores the voice telling him that this doesn’t feel quite right. He’s always been good at that.

No matter how ultimately unfulfilling their relationship had been until it ended a little over a year ago, being with Mattia had been nice for a while and he misses the comfort of it, or at least, the vague, idealized version he remembers. They had broken up in amicable enough terms, so why wouldn’t he be allowed one night of reminiscing with someone who does want to go out with him?

He begins to realize his mistake as soon as he sets foot in the bar. Mattia isn’t here to reminisce, at least not the way Martino had been considering, that much is obvious from his outfit to the look in his eye and the slightly too tight hug they exchange.

Still, he stays, they catch up, they have a good time and the cocktails, although on the pricey side, are delicious. Mattia is making his intentions and his desire very clear and it’s so nice to feel wanted that Martino is this close to going with it and follow him home, just for a bit of company. After the second drink, the idea of texting Elia that he won’t be coming home takes shape in his mind and he makes for the phone in his pocket. It is then that he realizes that he will have to explain where he was tomorrow and that there is a 0% chance Elia won’t give him shit for going back to his ex. It also occurs to him that it will fix exactly none of his problems and possibly only end up making him feel worse about himself. When Elia of all people became his impulse control, he couldn’t tell, but the phone stays in his pocket and he makes up an excuse instead. He tries not to feel too guilty about the naked disappointment on Mattia’s face when he pays for the drinks and heads home through the Saturday night crowds who are on their way to parties, dates and friends.

Elia is unexpectedly non-judgmental when he finally gets home that night and finds Martino moodily playing FIFA in the dark. He claps him on the shoulder sympathetically, commends him for not leading Mattia on, mumbles unconvincingly about fish in the sea, picks up the second controller and proceeds to completely wipe the floor with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you [Akira14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akira14/pseuds/Akira14) for reminding me that the boysquad would not have let Martino get away with avoiding Nico. I've been so focused on the girlsquad, I forgot the boys and that is unacceptable.


	9. Expenses

Now that he has accepted that getting over it would take a little bit more time and maybe the occasional bouts of wallowing, after Elia’s no-nonsense pep talk and playing video games late into the night as they used to in college whenever finals came to an end, Martino feels more positive about everything when he makes his way to work the next Monday. Gone are the restlessness and the hollow in his chest, and with them any doubt he might have had about scampering out of the bar and leaving Mattia behind. The start of the new week seems promising and he feels ready for whatever it may throw at him.

He hasn’t been here for an hour when he walks in on Eleonora and Eva restocking the coffee shelf in the kitchen and the first thing he tells himself is that it seems so obvious now. He still has the excuse that the people who work at Brava are all close to each other and pretty affectionate by nature. And yet, he wonders if there may have been some conscious or unconscious blindness on his part not to have noticed that whenever they are in the same room, the two of them are almost always touching in some way or another, and if they’re not, they’re the first person the other looks to when somebody asks a question or makes a joke. Last week, it would have added to the pit of loneliness he had dug for himself. Now, although he still feels a slight pang of envy, he’s mostly just happy for them.

The thought is still lingering at the back of his mind when Eleonora knocks on his door mid-morning and holds up a wad of paper for him to see.

“I’ve got those receipts you wanted for last month’s expenses.”

He waves her in and opens the Excel sheet where he tracks everybody’s business expenses. Usually, while most of the others just drop the receipts and let him deal with it, Eleonora checks with him as he inputs them one by one and reads him the references and amounts. If he had to bet on it, he would say she’s doing it because she used to handle all of this stuff and now she feels a little bad that the duty falls to him.

She only has a couple of receipts left in her hand, when she makes a noise, a short, amused huff of air that makes him look up from the keyboard to see her pointing at a line in the table.

“Looks like Nico’s travel expenses have gone down quite a bit. That’s funny.”

Martino is instantly suspicious. Her words are perfectly innocent, but there is something in her tone, even though he can’t figure out what she could possibly be implying.

“Is it?” He asks. She nods without any further comment, still reading through the Excel sheet. “Is that a bad thing?” Martino continues, curious now.

“No, not at all. We decided to all share the traveling duties whenever we need to visit suppliers or whatnot. That way, Eva and I don’t have to be gone all the time. I assume he’s just been visiting the ones who are closer to Rome lately. He must have swapped with someone, or I would have heard about it,” she adds with a laugh.

With that, she starts reading receipts to him again, and confused though he is by everything she’s just said, he keeps typing. Her explanation may have sounded trivial, but it feels like it isn’t in a way he can’t explain.

Once they’re done and he has closed his spreadsheet, she takes a couple of minutes to see how he’s been doing, as both she and Eva are wont to do from time to time. He’s been here for almost three months by now, but they still seem intent on making sure he doesn’t have any complaints about the job. As she’s about to walk through the doorway, though, he decides he has to know how much of that strange conversation might have been about more than travel expenses.

“Hey, Ele.” She turns around and waits as he hesitates for a beat. “Did Eva say something to you?”

When she had first realized he had feelings for Nico, she had promised not to tell him anything, but surely Eleonora is a different matter, especially now that he knows they’re dating.

“About what?” Her face is the picture of confusion and she doesn’t look away from him while he figures out if he wants to pursue this line of questioning and how. In the end, he decides against it. If she doesn’t know, it doesn’t seem worth the trouble of getting into it.

“Nothing. Never mind.”

It is a few weeks later, halfway through a quiet Thursday morning in May, that Martino makes his way up the stairs to the studio. Granted, he’s distracted since Luca spent most of the previous night on their couch having an extremely early midlife crisis and has been texting him suggestions for alternate careers, ranging from opening a bakery despite not knowing how to bake to the more cryptic “Wolves don’t eat humans, right, Marti?” Luca still hasn’t gotten back to him about that one, which is worrying to say the least.

So, he knocks on the door without really registering that it is closed, which usually means that whoever is inside needs some privacy and walks in with his eyes still stuck on the invoice he needs some clarification about.

“Hey, guys, quick question…” He begins before looking up and stopping dead in his track.

The studio is much quieter than usual, as its only three occupants stand in the middle of the wide space, a few steps away from him, all looking at him in various degrees of surprise. Niccolò and Silvia seem slightly at a loss as he doesn’t usually make it a habit of barging in on fittings, not since his second week when he didn’t know any better. Surprisingly, the third person, the complete stranger who is standing in a binder and skinny jeans between the other two, looks perhaps the most amused of them.

“I’m so sorry, I’ll come back later,” Martino says, already turning around. He’s about to beat a hasty retreat when the model speaks.

“You don’t have to go on my account, I’ve been surrounded by way more people while wearing way less.”

Martino glances towards Silvia who is standing right next to the guy, still holding the binder with one hand as if to adjust it, and then Nico who is sitting on the closest desk with a laptop. Neither of them says anything, so he turns back to the model.

“Are you sure? It can definitely wait.”

“Certain. You wouldn’t believe how boring these things can get. And these two are all work no play.” He points at the two designers and Martino tries not to laugh as they exchange offended looks. “Plus, I could use some eye candy to keep me distracted. I’m Leo.”

He extends his hand and Martino doesn’t really think before taking it and introducing himself in return. The motion brings him right next to Silvia as she casts delighted looks between the two of them and he can already tell he’s going to hear about this in the near future. The thought crosses his mind that if the presence of both Silvia and Nico is not enough eye candy for Leo, he’s not sure what more he can bring to the equation. He chances another look towards Niccolò, only to find his eyes moving from Leo to him. When their eyes meet, Martino’s not sure how to read what he finds there, but he doesn’t get a chance to dig into the subject as Nico gives him a brief smile that doesn't reach his eyes before looking back down to his laptop.

He wonders if he should stay, talk to Leo who seems nothing but charming, maybe flirt a little bit without any strings for once, without risking a friendship or his intentions being misunderstood. But in the end, he simply gives an apologetic shrug.

“Sorry, I actually have some work to do, I’ll come back later.” Leo looks disappointed, which he has to admit is flattering, but another glance towards Nico, who keeps his focus solely trained on his screen, convinces him that he would never be comfortable in front of this particular audience. “But it was nice to meet you,” he adds.

“My loss, I guess,” Leo comments as Martino opens the door and throws one last look behind him, to find Nico looking back this time. He holds his gaze for a heartbeat, and then walks out.

In hindsight, maybe Martino should have noticed the pattern by now and been more on his guard when he steps into the kitchen to make himself a mid-afternoon cup of tea and take the opportunity to stretch his back and clear his thoughts. Of course, he notices that Nico is sitting at the table, typing on his phone, but he doesn’t think much more of it. At least, not at first.

“Do you want Leo’s number?”

Martino’s grip on the mug he has just taken off the dish rack loosens in surprise and he only barely catches it before it goes crashing to the floor. The clang of the china against the counter sounds particularly loud in the silent room.

“What?”

“If you want to call him, we have his number on file. We work with him pretty often.”

When Martino puts the mug down in the sink before it falls prey to a tragic accident and turns around, Nico has stopped typing. He is looking at Martino and obviously waiting for an answer, but his expression is carefully neutral. Nico’s expression is never quite that blank, so the effect is unnerving.

“I’m not sure that would be very ethical, wouldn’t it?” Martino replies instead of asking the many questions that spring to his mind.

The careful expression on Nico’s face finally changes, turning to a curiosity he doesn’t bother hiding this time. “Ethical?”

“You have his number for work, not so anybody can call him and ask him out.”

A smile tugs at Nico’s lips and some normalcy starts to seep back in what has been a very odd day. “I forgot you had morals.”

Martino smiles in return and turns on the kettle. “I try.”

“How admirable of you. Especially in this political climate.”

With a shrug, Martino starts riffling through a drawer for a bag of tea. “It’s tough, but somebody’s got to do it.”

There’s a huff from behind him and the sheer normality of the interaction releases some tension he hadn’t even noticed he was holding. He had been afraid he had somehow messed up earlier in the studio, although he couldn’t settle on what he might have done wrong.

“So, that’s a no on the number?” Niccolò asks, shattering that normality right back into pieces.

Keeping his eyes on the bag waiting at the bottom of his mug, Martino doesn’t turn around. It feels like something in the situation is eluding him and it makes him antsy.

“No. But thanks.” He tries to make his tone final, but Niccolò doesn’t seem to be done with the matter.

“No, because it wouldn't be ethical or…”

He gives in and turn around, hoping that seeing Nico’s expression might help. It doesn’t.

“Because I don’t think I would use it.”

There is silence until steam starts escaping from the kettle and it clicks off. Martino still doesn’t have a clue where, if anywhere, this conversation is going, so he picks it up to pour water in his mug, which is why he almost misses it when Nico speaks again, much more softly than before.

“Why not?”

Part of him wants to be truthful, if only to get out of this path they are on that seems to be leading them nowhere. The problem is that he doesn’t know how helpful it would be to say, “Because I’m still hung up on you, because I tried imagining myself flirting with somebody else and I couldn’t, especially not with someone you know and right in front of you, because I understand why you won’t go out with me, but it still sucks, because I’d rather see you every day than spend more time with somebody else.” Probably not helpful at all is the most likely answer, so he just keeps quiet.

The kitchen falls silent again. As he stares at the color slowly seeping into his tea, like the paint washing away from a brush, Martino is torn between two considerations.

The first one is that never at any point, if his memory serves right, and he remembers the scene pretty well, did Nico say he wasn’t interested in him, just that he didn’t date people he work with. And before that day, before Nico started swallowing back his words in front of him, he had been flirting with him. It could have just been for fun or he could have meant it on some level, even if he wasn’t ready to go any further. Then, there’s Eleonora’s puzzling remarks, which had sounded way too pointed to be random. She had mentioned he was staying closer to Rome, could that mean something as well?

Those are the things that make him imagine that he understands what Nico is saying, that maybe he changed his mind, maybe he regrets saying no. Maybe, despite offering, he doesn’t want Martino to get that phone number. There is a logic to all of it together that means a part of him is still holding out some hope and refusing to move on. It’s the little devil on his shoulder whispering into his ear to ask, to make sure, to try again.

What makes him hesitate, however, is the other half of the story, what little he knows of Nico's past, the bits and pieces he had learned when he had googled his name in a moment of weakness back during that long week of silence. He hadn’t gone past reading the first sensationalistic titles the results had yielded before he had closed the tab, feeling like he was intruding. Still, he can’t forget that Nico had been making enough of a name for himself that the breakup and whatever scandal had followed had been mentioned in gossip pages and blogs. He seemed to have gone right back into obscurity after that, until he had found his way into Brava. Now that he is on an upward track again, it would be a big risk to take again on someone he has only known for a few months. And even if Nico is indeed having second thoughts, no matter how selfish he wants to be, Martino isn’t sure he could stand being the guy who puts him in this position. Perhaps it's cowardly of him or an easy way out, but it feels more right in that instant than the alternative and he usually follows his gut.

Martino takes a deep inhale.

“Nico…” He starts, hoping against all hope that if he makes himself speak, the right words might magically come to him and solve his dilemma for him. But then, he meets Nico’s eyes, and even though he hasn’t said anything yet, he can already read the dejection in them. “I don’t want the number,” he simply replies, brushing off the devil and sticking to his instincts. He walks up to the table to pick up some sugar to add to his tea and he can feel Niccolò’s eyes tracking his movements, but he doesn’t want to try and interpret anything anymore. It only ever seems to threaten to make things worse again. “I have to get back to work. See you later,” he concludes before heading out.


	10. Tipping

Every once in a while, Eleonora takes it upon herself to check up on Niccolò. He’s never completely sure what he’s done to justify it, but it is rarely unwarranted and he’s never found her interest to be overbearing. She always tries to make it look like she was just passing by, and he would almost buy it if she didn’t happen to come up to him when he’s all alone, usually bearing an offering of a cup of tea, a piece of chocolate, anything she thought he might like.

Today, they’re having lunch in a nearby park because Eva is off on a week-long work trip and Eleonora had walked up to him claiming that she wanted company. They’ve mostly been chatting about their next collection until there is a natural break in the conversation and Eleonora looks down to take a stab at her salad.

“Everything’s okay with you and Martino?”

He had been wondering what her topic of concern might be, but he should have guessed that she would have heard something. The walls of Brava have ears and they all seem to lead back to Eleonora.

“Sure, we’re fine.”

“That’s good.” She nods with a smile and eats another forkful of food.

“Why, what did you hear?” Over time, they’ve figured out that it never works for either of them to dance around the topic and try to find out what the other knows in a roundabout way. They dispense with this kind of chitchat now.

“Not much. Just Silvia was gushing about Leo hitting on Martino, and apparently you were there.” Nico holds back a sigh. Of all the people that could have witnessed this scene, it had to be Silvia. It’s not that he doesn’t like her, she just has a tendency to only notice the line once it’s way, way behind her. “I think she might have been a bit jealous,” Eleonora adds. “Did he actually call her boring?”

Niccolò laughs. “In his defense, I was included among the boring people.”

“Ah,” Eleonora nods again, as if that clarified the situation. “As long as you were included.”

They keep eating in silence for a moment, but there’s no way she’s done with the topic. Sure enough, a couple of minutes later, as she puts down her food to take out her water bottle, she picks up the conversation where they left it.

“So, what did Martino do?”

“Silvia didn’t tell you that?”

“No, she did.” She’s got a look that implies that she wants to hear it from him, although he’s not sure what she’s hoping to uncover from that. What Martino did stays the same, no matter who tells it.

“Leo asked if he wanted to hang around while we were fitting him and Martino said no. That’s it. Then, he left.”

“Did it bother you?”

Niccolò puts down his now empty container and lets his eyes drift around them at the people milling around the park. “That he left?”

“No,” she replies patiently. “That Leo was interested in him.”

He shrugs. “Does it matter?”

Although she is not done with her food yet, she puts her own container down on the bench as well and turns fully towards him with the concerned look that means she is serious about this. “Of course it does.”

There’s not much resisting Eleonora when she’s on a mission and he never particularly wants to either. Of all the people he could spill his guts to, she’s among the ones he trusts the most to hear him out.

“Yes, it did, but that’s not relevant.” A bird has come to pick at the crumbs they’ve dropped on the ground and they watch it jump around for a while until Niccolò speaks again. “You know he asked me for a drink once?”

“No, I didn’t.” She sounds genuinely surprised, so it’s good to know that some things can still remain private, especially as he is pretty certain that Eva does know.

“About a month ago.”

He sees the wheels turning in her head. “Was that when…”

“When we weren’t talking,” he finishes when she trails off, guessing her meaning.

She looks thoughtful and they watch the bird fly away. “I guess that means you said no.”

He doesn’t answer and starts digging his heel in the sand in front of them.

“If you regret it, you’re allowed to change your mind, you know,” she points out.

“But I don’t know if I regret it.” A more accurate answer would have been that he doesn’t know how much he regrets it, whether it is enough to actually go back on it, but he figures it is close enough to the truth for the purpose of this conversation.

“Is this about Gina?” Ever since everything went to shit, people have had this tendency to lower their voice when they mention Gina’s name in his presence, as if it’s going to soften the blow. But it doesn’t work like that. Gina’s not a _Harry Potter_ villain, her power’s never been in her name, it’s in the scars she left behind. The ones that led him right to that bench all because Leo, who he has absolutely nothing against and actually kind of likes, flirted with Martino for 30 seconds.

He doesn’t know how to answer her question because yes, it is about Gina, but no, it’s not even about her anymore because now it’s about him being afraid of having his trust trampled on and his heart with it.

“Kind of,” he replies helplessly, as it’s the best compromise he can find.

“Do you think Martino would do anything like that?”

“No,” he retorts immediately. Not the guy who got fired for refusing to embezzle money and whose first objection to getting a model’s phone number was that it wasn’t ethical. “I really don’t. But I wasn’t exactly expecting it from her either. Everybody liked Gina, remember? You were friends with her.”

He feels a little guilty at bringing it up when she makes a face. At the time, most people had been falling over themselves to defend Gina. “Why would she lie?” he had been told over and over again. “She loves you.” That one had sounded almost like an accusation. Very few had cared to question why _he_ would lie. To her credit, Eleonora had been one of them and had sided with him right from the start even though she wasn’t even his friend back then. Not all of his own friends had done the same.

“That’s the thing with leaps of faith,” Eleonora speaks gently to draw him out of the memories he never chooses to revisit if he can help it. “You only know if it was worth it after you jump.”

“I’ve taken leaps of faith before, Ele, a lot of them, and they didn’t always end well for me.”

“I know.” She squeezes his arm comfortingly. “But, hey, working with us, that was a leap of faith as well, right? I hope it treated you right.”

He can’t help but smile a little at her attempt to cheer him up. “Don’t fish for compliments, it’s beneath you.”

She chuckles in answer. “You try starting a fashion company, you’ll reconsider what’s beneath you. But if you thought that was fishing for compliments, that means it did treat you right.”

“That might have been the best one. Happy?”

“I’m glad you think so. But there could be a new, even better one out there somewhere.” She lets go of his arm to get back to finishing her food because the clock is ticking and they will have to go back at some point or another. “Listen, I get why you don’t want to risk it, but you could meet somebody outside of work who could screw you over as well. And you know that whatever happens, we’d all be behind you either way.”

“I know.” His phone buzzes with a text from Sana asking where he’s disappeared to as they are supposed to work together this afternoon. They pick up everything and start making their way back. “Couldn’t you just tell me what I should do?” He jokes as they pass the gates of the park into the busy street.

She takes the question for exactly what it is and scoffs. “You hate being told what to do.”

“Come on, I’m giving you permission.”

“Sorry, this one’s up to you. But I think that deep down, you know what you want to do already.”

That’s why he stopped trying to evade Eleonora’s questions, she knows how to read him too well. All he can do is switch the focus back to her.

“Why am I even listening to you? You’re dating your business partner, you’re obviously biased.”

Her smile softens, the way it usually does whenever Eva is mentioned. “I know. Some would say it wasn’t my brightest idea either. But worth it.”

“You never regret it?”

“Regret, no. I just worry about what could happen sometimes.”

“And?” Their situations are different is so many ways but he can’t help the pressing tone in his voice. Her answer seems important to decide what he should do.

She makes a helpless gesture. “There’s no way to know, Nico. Right now, all I can say is that the company and Eva are both the best things in my life. Tomorrow’s tomorrow’s business.”

June is in full bloom when a heatwave hits Italy. The nights turn too warm, and at their hottest, the days are almost unbearable. Just a few days in, everybody is already tired. Peaceful sleep in a cool room seems like a distant memory to Niccolò, who isn’t sure if he remembers what it was like not to be sweaty all the time. Of course, like a lot of none too recent buildings, Brava’s offices don’t have air conditioning, so after about two days and by unspoken agreement, they all start showing up earlier in the morning and get used to turning on the fans as soon as it becomes too hot to keep any window open.

The mood is subdued at Brava during that time. The heat brings with it sleep deprivation and sluggishness, so everybody moves slower and finds themselves daydreaming, their eyes searching the sky or the pavement for the illusory raindrop that will mark the end of this hellish week. Work is still getting done, but it takes longer, which brings impatience with it and the occasional snapping, immediately followed by mortified apologies and just as quick forgiveness.

It’s been a few weeks now since his conversation with Eleonora, but even though Niccolò hasn’t been actively thinking about it, it has been hovering at the back of his mind, slowly seeping into the way he had been considering his situation. Neither of them broaches the subject again, they never do, he keeps being friends with Martino, Leo is only ever brought up for purely work-related reasons, and it’s all very normal and comfortable.

They’re at the height of the heatwave and entering the second week of record-breaking temperatures, when circumstances conspire to offer him an opportunity and he decides to jump on it. It’s not quite a leap of faith yet, but it’s an opening, maybe, hopefully, a start.

While the street outside is almost simmering under the midday sun, Niccolò makes his way downstairs from the studio with purpose and a smidge of trepidation, fanning himself ineffectively with a brochure for a taco place that he was handed by a miserable-looking student that morning, and heads towards Martino’s office. It’s become a habit by this point. Whenever he walks past, he stops to talk to him, even for just a minute. He never stops to think if it should be a matter of interrogation or concern, it just is.

When he knocks on the door and no answer or movement comes from inside, he concludes that the office must be empty at first. He’s about to go look for Martino when a rustling sound draws his attention and he realizes that he’s actually right here, his arms crossed on the desk next to his keyboard and his head laying over them, seemingly sound asleep. Neither the knock nor the chatter coming from the kitchen seem to have troubled him and he looks so gone to the world that Niccolò doesn’t have it in him to wake him up. The heat has done a number on all of them and he remembers Martino mentioning the occasional bout of insomnia after showing up at work with bags under his eyes and a shorter fuse than usual. So, he steps back quietly and pulls the door behind him, leaving it ajar.

About an hour later, he tries his luck again, only to find that Martino hasn’t moved. The position doesn’t look too comfortable and even though nobody would blame him for it, he probably wouldn’t love knowing that he’s slept the entire afternoon away while the rest of them were working, so this time, Niccolò steps around the desk to squeeze his shoulder.

“Marti?"

Martino stirs, only to attempt to burrow his head deeper into his arms, and exhales loudly in annoyance. Stifling a laugh, Niccolò calls his name again, and he finally looks up through half-open eyes, with a confused frown on his face.

“You’re always on our case about sleeping here, and look at you. Shame on you,” Niccolò points out jokingly.

Martino blinks a few times before he appears to remember who and where he is and is able to respond. “I’m only on your case when you guys spend the night here. You should not do that.” He stifles a yawn and despite not being particularly discreet about it, he then offers a shameless lie. “And I was just resting my eyes.”

“For an hour?” Niccolò asks.

There is a beat before Martino speaks. “It’s been an hour?”

“At least. I stopped by about an hour ago and you were sleeping already.”

Dropping any pretense, Martino scratches at his hair and he seems a little concerned now.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“It’s so hot, Marti, nobody’s sleeping and you kinda looked like you needed it. And it was nothing urgent, I just came to extend an invitation.”

Martino looks down at his hands which are still resting on the desk in front of him. “An invitation?”

“Yes. It’s a bit last-minute, but there’s a fashion conference in Milan on Friday and Saturday. It’s a really big event and because Spera knows people, we always get invited as well. Ele and Eva were supposed to go this year, but they just got a meeting with a potential investor on Friday and he won’t budge on the date, so I offered. The invitation is for two, do you want to come with me? Everybody else is busy.”

Martino smirks and doesn’t answer, just looks at him, and Niccolò’s not sure what he’s done to warrant that reaction. “Oh, well, when you put it like that, how can I say no?” He finally offers.

“You know what I mean. I know it’s not your thing and it’ll take up your Saturday, but it’s for work, so you can have Monday off.” Martino keeps quiet, so he lays it on a bit thicker. “Have you ever been to Milan?”

“No, never.”

“See? Even if you don’t find anything interesting in the program, you can go sightseeing instead. What do you think?”

Martino picks up a pen and twirls it a few times while he ponders the invitation and Niccolò crosses his arms to keep himself from fidgeting. “The conference rooms, they’ll have A/C, right?”

Niccolò lets out an amused huff. Given the choice, he might also consider attending a two-day conference on math or accounting if it meant being in an air-conditioned room right now.

“I think the heat’s supposed to let up by the weekend. But if it hasn’t, yes, I’m pretty sure MiCo has A/C. Oh, and there’s always a party on Saturday with really good champagne,” he adds in a singsong voice he hopes will be convincing.

It occurs to him that he might be overselling what is essentially two days of listening to people drone on while trying to be seen by the other attendees, but the only time he had gone, he did have a good time. In addition to which he tries not to tell himself that being away from Rome, even for a short time, away from the people they know and the routine of their usual interactions, he might be able to really explain himself, to see how Martino feels, to weigh if he would be ready to give him another chance. However, none of this can happen if Martino continues to not say anything as he has been so far.

“Come on, it’s two days in Milan, paid for by your employer! You won’t even have to go to any of the conferences if you don’t want to. I won’t tell.” As Martino seems to be on the verge of tipping over to his side and agree, he adds, “Say yes, Marti. Champagne and a kinda decent hotel room.”

For a second, Martino just looks at him straight in the eye and although Niccolò can’t tell what he’s thinking, he senses that something important is at play here.

“Okay.”

At his answer, Niccolò can’t quite contain the grin that breaks on his face, and when Martino smiles back, it feels like possibility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know we all associate Milan with heartbreak, but nothing bad is going to happen there, I promise.


	11. Fresh air

On Friday morning, they take a train that leaves Rome way too early. They meet up at Termini at an hour that should not even exist if Martino had anything to say about it. If it absolutely had to, it should be an hour reserved for sleeping, or maybe an hour that only comes as the end of a long, eventful night and certainly not as the beginning of an even longer day. He snoozed his alarm twice before Elia, who somehow manages to get by on four hours of sleep, came in to hit him with a pillow until he actually got up and had to rush to the station. But the first panel is at 10 and there is some kind of opening breakfast before that, which Nico insisted they had to attend because it’s a great time to mention your name to sleepy investors and potential partners. Now that he’s awake, or at least that his body is working on pure reflexes alone, Martino is starting to consider that this might be some kind of ridiculous and potentially punishable form of torture.

The only advantage to being up and about this early is that the morning air feels blissfully cool after two ridiculously hot weeks. Incidentally, this is also how long Martino has been going on very little sleep, so he contents himself with following Niccolò to what he assumes is the right train and being pushed inside when it’s about to leave and staying on the platform to bask in the fresh air is no longer possible. He falls asleep as soon as they’re out of Rome.

The first time he wakes up, Nico is working on his laptop, so focused that he doesn’t even notice he’s being watched. The second time, Martino doesn't even open his eyes, just shifts his back against his seat to find a more comfortable position. He stops when he realizes the weight on his left shoulder must be somebody resting their head there. It's not hard to figure out who it must be, so he shuffles down his seat slightly to make it more comfortable for the two of them, and Niccolò settles against him with a long exhale. Martino goes back to sleep.

When he opens his eyes next, he finally feels something like himself and a quick look at his phone tells him they are just over 20 minutes away from their destination. Nico is still slumbering peacefully on the seat next to him and has to be shaken awake when their train enters the Central Station.

They jump in a metro to the convention center and manage to get there before all food has vanished from the buffet and there is still enough coffee left to finish turning them back into functioning human beings. The weather forecast Martino checked on the train told him the heatwave was currently on its way out southward, which means that Rome still has to suffer through it for a couple of days but that Milan is back to more bearable temperatures. They've only just arrived but it's already one point in favor of Milan.

When people start moving towards the main auditorium for the opening address, they follow and take their places. It feels a lot like being back in college with more comfortable seats and without any grades or teachers to worry about. Martino’s almost excited for what is coming, at least eager at the idea of learning something new. The feeling lasts until about five minutes into the first speaker’s speech, which turn out to be excruciatingly boring. It’s like their longest staff meeting to the power of a hundred. He tries to follow what she’s talking about but his thoughts start to wander while people around him, Niccolò included, nod or hum, and take notes. It’s what saves him in the end, the fact that so many attendees are making notes on phones, tablets or laptops, that he takes out his own phone and start going through his email without worrying about seeming rude. When there is a nudge on his arm halfway through the third invoice, he’s convinced that Niccolò is going to make fun of him for not even making it through the very first panel, but instead, he pushes his laptop towards Martino and starts making notes on his phone instead. Filled with relief, Martino mouths a “thank you” and fishes out his USB drive, which has all his backed-up files because he does learn from his mistakes sometimes.

After hours more of pretty much the same thing, the break for lunch is welcome by all, but especially by Martino. He had at least been expecting something fun, not people droning on about technicalities and damn PowerPoint presentations. They take advantage of the break to head to their hotel to check in and drop their bags. They have a room booked in a smaller hotel, one that is two metro stations away from the convention center, because everybody agreed that, as big an occasion as the conference was, it was still not worth bankrupting Brava for two nights.

Once they have their key and have located the right number in the maze of hallways that is the fourth floor, Martino unlocks the door, takes three steps in, and stops dead in his tracks.

“Fuck.”

“Is it that bad?” Nico asks from behind him before walking around and coming to a stop by his side at the sight of the one and only bed.

“The room was supposed to be for Ele and Eva,” Niccolò says, realization dawning in his voice. “I didn’t think about that. Maybe we can ask if we could switch to another room.”

Martino rubs his forehead, not quite able to stop staring at the bed. He isn’t even that surprised at this new development, although he doesn’t know if it is because they should have seen it coming or because he has a feeling that this is just what those two days in Milan are going to be like. From the moment he had agreed to Nico’s invitation, he had been both dreading and looking forward to the trip which, if anything, sounded almost too good. Free champagne and a hotel room to share with Nico? That was a dangerous and potentially disastrous idea if he’d ever heard one.

“No, don’t worry about it,” he says because Nico is waiting for his answer while brushing his nail over his upper lip.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?”

Of course, Martino minds. He is currently experiencing vivid flashbacks of sleeping on his floor back in high school rather than share a bed with Gio. That’s not even a viable solution to his current issue, not in small part because he’s not 17 anymore and he can’t imagine what that would do to his back. There’s no way Nico would let him either. And if Nico does not mind them sharing a bed knowing full well that Martino has feelings for him, then he is not going to be the one to pitch a fit about it.

“Yes, it’s fine. But if you snore, I will kick you out.”

While Nico laughs and moves to the window to check on the view, Martino attempts to make a resolution. He’s an adult, they’re friends, he’s already embarrassed himself enough in front of Nico, so he’ll deal with this like an adult. He’s shown self-control up until now, so the chances of him doing anything stupid are probably pretty low.

“So, ready to go back for more?”

With all that, Martino had momentarily forgotten that there were still hours of conferences waiting for them. His eyes are drawn to the blue sky clearly visible through the window behind Niccolò.

“Hey, I mentioned I’ve never been to Milan before, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.”

“I was just thinking that would it be a shame not to take the opportunity to see the city just a little bit. It’s so nice outside and I’m not going to understand what anybody is talking about anyway.”

“You don’t have to convince me,” Nico replies as he makes his way back to the door. “I don’t care if you play truant. Although the more fun talks are always in the afternoon, so you’ll miss out on those.”

“Why would they put the boring talks first?”

“To weed out the weak, of course.”

“And it certainly worked. Are you sure it’s fine if I don’t stick around?” Martino won’t let himself feel totally relieved until he’s sure Nico is okay with him bailing.

“I mean, I would really like to be able to use my own laptop, for a start.”

“So it’s better for both of us, then.”

The smile Nico gives him in answer is not fooled by the way Martino is trying to play down his eagerness at getting out of the conference, but he doesn’t call him out on it. Instead, he just grabs his backpack and opens the door. “Looks like it.”

Grinning now and already imagining himself enjoying a free afternoon without worrying about melting in the heat, Martino follows him out. “Cool. Oh, and I have a friend from high school who lives here, so I was going to see if he was free to get a drink or something later. You could meet up with us when you’re done.”

Niccolò doesn’t answer until they’ve managed the way back through the maze and found the staircase. “I’m supposed to have dinner with some people we work with tonight.” He doesn’t sound that excited at the prospect.

“Shit, I didn’t know that. Do you need me to go with you?”

There is another silence that lasts through two whole flights of stairs before Nico replies. “No, it’s fine. If you thought the panels were boring, it’s going to be so much worse for you.”

They make their way through the hotel lobby, where people in suits and armed with briefcases stride past each other. Outside, they stop right by the door before going their separate way.

“Have fun with your friend tonight,” Nico offers first, with a slightly wistful expression.

“Thanks. And I’ll meet you back here, then?”

“Sure. See you tonight.”

“See you tonight.”

It’s getting dark when Martino makes his way back to the hotel. His legs are tired but his entire being feels loose and relaxed, his skin warm from the sun and any worries he might have had seeming far away for now. The only thing on his mind is the excitement that carries him back to the room despite how painful his feet are when he remembers that he gets to tell Nico all about his afternoon.

When he opens the door, he is greeted by the sight of Niccolò lying down on the bed, eyes closed and fingers splayed out over his forehead, as if he had been massaging a headache away. He doesn’t have a visible reaction to the door opening, so Martino announces himself. “Hi.”

A smile appears on Nico’s face as he sits up. “Hey.”

“How was dinner?” Martino asks, toeing off his shoes which were definitely not made to trample around Milan for hours and exhaling in relief at finally being free of them.

“Uninteresting. I’d rather hear about what you did. How was your friend?”

Only then does it hit Martino that he looks worn out, from the bags under his eyes to the almost sleepiness of the way he smiles.

“Are you okay?” He asks with a frown, evading the question.

“I’m just tired. Listening to conferences all day and then all the schmoozing, I forgot how exhausting it could be.” Nico lies back down against a pillow he’s arranged at the head of the bed. “So, tell me, what did you do all afternoon?”

“I went shopping, obviously.”

The room is pretty small so the only places for him to seat are the plastic chair that comes with a small table tucked in a corner or the bed itself. They’re going to have to sleep next to each other later anyway and the chair looks completely unappealing, so he sits down on the foot of the bed as he starts retelling his pretty exhaustive tour of Milan from forgoing the cathedral because the weather was just too nice to losing track of time while watching a juggler by one of the canals. By the time he gets to the moment he had met up with Peccio at a restaurant behind the castle, he’s warmed up to his topic and Nico seems to be thoroughly enjoying listening to him.

“I didn’t even know he was married, but I can’t believe he’s got a baby as well. He barely ever managed to make it to class on time in high school, but he’s responsible for a human being now.” He takes his phone out of his pocket where it had been digging into his thigh and lays it next to him on the cover. “Gio’s gonna flip when I tell him that Peccio’s a dad.”

Despite not knowing any of the people involved in his story, Niccolò laughs along with him and lets him ramble on. The window, which is right next to where Martino is sitting, is open and a gust of cool wind draws him to lean over the guardrail. “It’s still so nice outside. We really lucked out with that conference. Back in Rome, they’re probably still sweating.”

Niccolò just hums in answer at first.

“So, you could say I saved you from the heatwave?” He adds after a few seconds during which Martino keeps enjoying the fresh air on his face. He turns around to find Nico looking at him, his expression more relaxed than it was when he came in.

“Unless you have weather control powers I don’t know about, I’m not sure you can take credit for that.”

Nico scrunches up his face in apparent disagreement. “Shame. I was going to say you saved me from having to attend this thing alone, but…”

“But I didn’t even go with you.”

“I don’t mind. You’re here now, it’s nice to have company.”

Martino leaves the windowsill to go back to the bed.

“Now that you mention it, you did save me from that opening speech this morning. Thank you by the way.”

“You’re welcome. But that means I’m one ahead.”

He’s looking at Martino with his eyebrows raised and it sounds like a challenge.

“Sure,” Martino replies evenly. “For now.”

Neither of them looks away for a beat, not until Martino’s phone buzzes next to him. He bites back the urge to apologize for picking it up and opening Elia’s text, as if it had interrupted something. Niccolò picks up his own phone after that and they spend the next few minutes in comfortable silence, both lost in their own little bubbles.

“Marti?” He looks up to find that Nico has placed his phone back on his nightstand and seems to have slouched down further on the bed. “Do you mind if I turn in? I’m wiped out.”

“Of course not.” Martino stands up, taking this as the signal to get ready for bed as well. Being back on his feet reminds him that he had been tired as well and that they still have one day of the conference to go. Niccolò is up as well and, after sorting through his suitcase, he heads towards the bathroom.

Martino realizes he has not quite thought through the whole sharing a bedroom thing when Niccolò comes out a few minutes later wearing just a plain tee-shirt and a pair of shorts. There’s nothing extraordinary about any it, and it’s exactly why he finds he can’t quite drag his eyes away from him. It’s the least put together he’s ever seen Nico, not that he dresses as eccentrically as some of the people who were at the fashion show or even at the conference this morning. His style would clearly fit on the simpler end of the fashion spectrum, but there is no denying that his choice of clothing is always very deliberate. There is nothing deliberate here, it’s just pajamas, and this Nico is just a tired, messy-haired, tamped-down version of the one he is used to seeing at work. It might just be the proximity or the fact that it’s a total change of scene from their usual interactions, but it suddenly seems like a lot, like so much more than anything he’s ever seen him wear, the skirt or even the occasional suit. Martino slips into the bathroom without a word before his lingering looks can be discovered or, god forbid, questioned.

Luckily, by the time he’s brushed his teeth and put on his own, very similar, nightclothes, Nico is already in bed, with his back to the empty side of the bed, which looks a little forbidding, but is probably for the best.

Once he’s settled next to him, Martino finds there is something oddly soothing to Nico's presence, to the way his breathing evens out progressively over the next few minutes and the rustle of the sheets every time he moves. The window has been left open, letting in the noise of the city pouring out into the streets to enjoy an atmosphere that has become breathable again after barricading itself in the shade for two weeks. Four floors above the people celebrating, Martino and Niccolò are only vaguely aware of them as they lay with their backs to each other and one, then the other, falls asleep, seemingly following each other even there.


	12. Red

For the first time in two weeks, Martino sleeps through the night, only to be woken up the next morning by a combination of Nico’s alarm going off, the muffled curse that follows and something brushing against his nose. The alarm is turned off and Nico falls back down onto his pillow, which is when Martino notices that they both seem to have gravitated towards the middle of the bed as his head is now pressed against Nico’s shoulder. He wants to move back and considers apologizing but before he can, Niccolò grimaces and stretches his arms in front of him.

“Sorry. You can go back to sleep, but there’s a conference I really wanted to go to. I just fucking wish it wasn’t at 9:30 am.”

Martino rubs his eyes in the hope of grounding himself into reality as the vision of a sleep-puffed-eyed Nico next to him is not doing a great job of convincing him that he isn’t still dreaming.

“I could go with you.”

Niccolò looks almost as surprised as he feels when he hears himself uttering the words, but after a second of reflection, he realizes that he does mean them. He’ll blame it on a good night’s sleep and the touch of his arm against Nico’s as he pushes himself on his elbow to look at Martino.

“Are you sure? I’m fine going by myself.”

“I think I could stand to learn a few things. And I’m pretty sure with a full night’s sleep behind me, I’ll even manage to get maybe 10% of what’s being said.”

“It must have been some really good sleep if you think it’ll make you understand fashion,” Nico comments with a twinkle in his eyes while pushing over the sheet to sit up.

Stifling a yawn, Martino doesn't rise to the bait. “It was.”

At the convention center, a much smaller version of the previous day’s buffet is waiting for the most determined attendees who are ready to face a 9:30 panel on a Saturday. The talks Nico has picked deal more with sustainability or with the business side of the industry, things that are actually relevant to what Martino does, so they are nowhere near as painful as the ones from the day before. It certainly helps that he is now at almost full brain capacity and he finds himself easily drawn in the discussions that take place, occasionally nodding along with everybody else.

When they step outside after the last panel, Martino stretches out his back from sitting for too long and he understands now the state Nico was in the night before because he feels exhausted. His head is almost spinning with trying to keep everything he’s heard straight. They still have a few hours before the party begins and no obligations until then, so they walk back leisurely to their hotel to get ready, taking as many detours as they want whenever something catches their attention. By the time they get to their room, Martino is starting to believe he might be able to form a coherent thought again, although just because he can, it doesn’t mean that he has to.

“All I’m saying is that we were just over there dressed like that, what difference does it make?” His tone is insistent to convey his point even though this is an argument he’s only picking to see how Nico will answer.

“The difference is that before, that was work. This is a party. You do know what those are, right?”

“I’m familiar with the concept, yes,” Martino retorts, squinting his eyes at Nico to show that he is not falling for his pretend concern.

“Well, I don’t know how accountants party, but in most places, the general practice is that people dress up. You’ve got an invitation, though, so it’s not like you’ll be turned out at the door if you don’t want to change.”

Martino pretends to think about it despite the fact that he absolutely packed an outfit for the party. “Fine, I’ll do it. ‘When in Rome’, and all that.”

“But we’re not in Rome,” Niccolò protests with a grin.

Martino doesn’t even dignify that with an answer and starts taking out his clothes from his bag, hoping that they’re not too wrinkled, before heading to the bathroom to change. After having attempted to comb his hair with his fingers into something resembling tame, he comes out to find Niccolò ironing something on the small table in its corner. Where he even found an iron, Martino has no idea. He considers Nico’s suitcase with suspicion but there is no way he managed to fit this monstrosity in there.

“I see you gave in to peer pressure,” Niccolò comments after a glance in his direction. “You even did your hair.”

“I didn’t do my hair,” Martino protests because it surely cannot count if he only used his fingers and some water.

“Oh no? You don’t care what your hair looks like at all?”

“No, I don’t.”

Niccolò briefly looks up from what he’s doing to reply a completely unconvinced “Obviously not.” After having unplugged the iron, he picks up the clothes that he’s arranged on a hanger and makes his way to the bathroom as well. He’s about to close the door behind him when he leans into the room. “Whatever you did, it looks good.” And then, the door is shut and Martino is left with that to mull over.

Since he doesn’t particularly want to dwell on the topic when they’re about to go out together to a party and then share a bed for another night, Martino takes out his phone to check on the progress of Luca’s plan to give meaning to his life by volunteering. It hasn’t been going that well so far. It turns out that it’s hard to be of much help in an animal shelter when you’re allergic to cats. This means he’s still laughing at Luca’s tales when Nico comes back into the room and doesn’t pay attention to him at first.

“What’s so funny?”

Martino looks up and the words die in his throat. That’s a thing that happens too often for his liking when Nico is around. Except this time it doesn’t last, although he kind of wishes it had when the words slip out of his mouth. “You look great.”

The shirt Nico is wearing is red, but it’s a very specific shade of red Martino doesn’t know the name of and it is doing absolute wonders for him. And then, he puts on the dark grey jacket that had been hanging over the back of the chair and although the shirt is now sadly partly covered, everything just… works. Martino couldn’t explain it, even after five months in a fashion company, it’s in the way everything fits so perfectly, both on him and together. If this is what style does, they maybe he’s starting to understand. He’s trying hard to ignore the fact that the jeans he has on are the best clothes he own and that they were a Christmas gift from his mom.

“Thank you,” Nico replies. “So do you.”

Martino wants to take it as a joke, but there is no hint of the usual teasing in Nico’s expression, he’s barely even smiling. He was right about the trip being a dangerous and potentially disastrous idea.

The party is like any party he has attended with Brava. It’s a lot of talking to people you don’t know and pretty much trying to sell them on your existence. Talking to strangers has never been an issue for Martino, but having the same conversation over and over again quickly gets mind-numbing. Thankfully the food, although it is composed almost entirely of miniature versions of dishes – mini burgers, mini bruschetta, a spoonful of cold soup in a miniature bowl – is delicious and Niccolò had not been lying about the champagne.

When people talk to him, he introduces himself as the numbers guy to justify his ignorance. They seem to find that amusing for some reason. After that, they either smoothly move on to somebody else as if it had been their plan all along, or they keep talking to him anyway and he rehashes everything he’s learned about the company. He must not do too badly, because he ends up with several business cards and somebody even attempts to poach him. Meanwhile, Niccolò moves gracefully from one person to the next with the same apparent enthusiasm, as if he had done it hundreds of times. Which, Martino guesses, he must have. Every once in a while, he catches Martino’s eyes and gives him an encouraging smile. It helps with the schmoozing. It’s not going to help with sharing a bedroom again later.

Sometime later, as the atmosphere gets progressively less stilted and people start loosening up and talking about things that aren’t the business they’re trying to promote, Nico loses the jacket. He literally loses it, so they spend ten minutes looking for it. Martino doesn’t look that hard because he’s only human and he does appreciate seeing the shirt again. Despite his best efforts, he still manages to find it under somebody else’s coat.

By the time they finally leave the room, night has long since fallen, although Martino has no idea what time it actually is. He doesn’t really care to know either, preferring to imagine they’re somewhere in a timeless dimension where he and Nico get to head back together to their temporary home, none of their history happened and they can just be. Once thing he does know, though, is that he’s wiped out on repeating the same buzz phrases until the words lost all meaning. He joins Nico who is standing by the main entrance of the convention center, looking outside.

“Let’s walk back to the hotel,” he suggests.

Martino glances at the pavement which has gotten suspiciously dark and glimmery since they came in, a few hours or a lifetime ago. “But it’s raining.”

“It’s drizzling at worst and it’ll take, what, twenty minutes?” The walk really isn’t that long, but Martino’s tired and he doesn’t really feel like getting drenched right now. “Come on, Marti, walk through the rain with me,” Nico insists before he can make his point.

Niccolò’s eyes are shining and he seems so profoundly happy in that moment, that Martino has no idea how he could ever tell him no.

“Oh, you mean the drizzle?” He simply points out as they’re already halfway through the door.

So, they walk back and the rain isn’t that bad, just enough that their hair starts sticking to their foreheads halfway through and that water starts seeping through their shirts by the time they reach the hotel. A thin layer of mist is covering Martino's face that he fruitlessly attempts to wipe off with his equally damp sleeve while they wait for the elevator.

Champagne, he learns while they talk about everything and anything that crosses their minds, makes Nico rant about what seems to be his great nemesis in life, French fashion. When they step into the room, he’s somehow moved on from there to French wine.

“I’m just saying they could have served something Italian instead of champagne,” Nico explains as he drops his jacket on the table, no longer caring about wrinkles, and sits down on his side of the bed to take off his shoes.

“You still got drunk on it, that wasn’t very patriotic of you.” Martino cracks open the window before sitting at the foot of the bed to imitate him.

“I’m not drunk, I had two glasses.”

“Really?”

“Really. And if I’m drunk, it’s not on champagne,” Nico sighs happily before kicking his shoes further away from the bed and dropping down onto his back.

“Oh, what is it on?”

Niccolò looks at him. He doesn’t say anything for what feels like a really long time and Martino’s breath catches in his throat for a second in anticipation of what his next word is going to be.

"Milan," Nico responds, although the tilt to his mouth tells a whole other story.

"Not on that weird grudge you hold against...” He searches his memory for the name which had seemed to come back the most amidst Nico’s rant. “Jean-Paul Gaultier?”

That draws laughter from Niccolò which Martino feels may be a little unwarranted. Just because he has no idea who that guy is doesn’t mean he wasn’t listening. "What do you know about Jean-Paul Gaultier?"

“I know you hate him.”

“Aaaw, and you remembered his name.”

“Of course.”

Niccolò is lying down on the bed, still wearing that red shirt, his hair drying in wavy patterns, looking at him invitingly when he extends his hand and begins tracing random patterns against Martino’s thigh. Martino's not drunk either, it hadn’t seemed like a good idea, but if he were, it would be on that image.

He knows deep in his bones that if he stood up right now or even just moved his leg an inch, Nico would drop it, probably permanently. It would be awkward, but it would be fine. They’ve done awkward before and they survived it. But that is not what he wants.

What he wants is to take the invitation that is being issued and all of Nico with it. So much stronger than any objection he might have had, it's the pleasant buzz of the alcohol coursing through his veins, the good food and the party, it's being in Milan and the red shirt, the breeze through the window, the hand on his thigh and the look in Nico's eyes that convince him.

He shifts on the bed, resting his weight on his left arm which he props next to Niccolò, who follows the movement with his eyes. The smile on his face grows smaller but infinitely softer. Martino doesn’t have any reason not to, not right now, so he leans over Nico, whose hand comes to rest on his neck to guide him down. He’s tantalizingly close to finally kissing him when Niccolò cranes his head up to meet him in an unexpected motion that startles Martino and it is not their lips that crash together but their foreheads, much harder than either of them could have predicted. Nico lets out a pained noise and drops back down on the bed while Martino immediately pulls back.

“Sorry!”

Nico’s expression as he rubs his forehead is only pretending to be offended and he can’t even hold the pretense for long, slipping back into a grin. “That’s a hard head you’ve got there.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Martino answers, mirroring the smile on Nico’s face and leaning down again, much slower this time, to avoid any new accident. Nobody is hurt this time, but finally, finally, their lips meet and the noise of the city outside or the people coming and going in the hallway fades into the background as the only things that remain are Nico and him and this minute.

The position quickly proves uncomfortable, however, but Martino would not stop kissing him, not for anything right now, so he attempts to shuffle closer on the cover, to unfold his left leg that has started cramping. Nico must realize it as he wraps his arm around his back and pulls him down on top of him unceremoniously and yet, still without any new casualty. This new position meets fully with Martino’s approval, although he worries he might end up crushing Nico in the long term. But the long term is not at the top of his concerns.

They stay like that for a while, learning each other in a new way without a rush or a care in the world, one of Nico’s hand moving from Martino’s neck to tracing his face to playing with a strand of hair. When his right hand comes to rest against Martino’s stomach, it sends a wave of heat through his entire body. Nico keeps his hand pressed against his stomach and it takes Martino a few seconds to figure out what he’s doing. Nico is trying to unbutton his shirt. Single-handedly. As they lay pressed against each other. It’s no wonder he hasn’t been successful yet. At the realization, Martino can’t help but break the kiss to laugh against his mouth.

“Do you need any help with that?”

“Hang on.”

Nico pushes him away and sits up to take another shot at the shirt, with both hands and nothing in the way this time. He pulls off his own shirt, and the dismay Martino feels at watching the flash of red disappear on the ground lasts barely a second. Apparently satisfied now that there is one less layer of clothes between them, Niccolò maneuvers Martino down onto the bed and just looks at him for a moment. Just as Martino starts to feel self-conscious under his gaze, Nico drops a kiss right above his heart. It stirs something deep in Martino’s chest that he can’t quite explain so he follows Nico’s example and pulls him back down. Having him this close, their bodies pressed together again is almost overwhelming at first, but he’s wanted it for so long and he is so tired of thinking that he shuts off any doubts and sinks into the feeling of Nico’s skin, his hands, his mouth. Thinking hasn’t gotten him anywhere, and if this is his one chance at having Niccolò like this, all to himself, he’s going to seize it and make the most of it.


	13. Full disclosure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for brief ableist language, which is used by Nico to recount something his ex said about him.

Niccolò wakes up with a dry mouth and a light heart. Before he even opens his eyes, he recognizes the throbbing at the top of his skull that comes from not enough water, sustaining food or sleep the night before. Slowly blinking himself more awake, the first thing that comes into focus is the back of Martino’s head before the rest of the room follows. Carefully shuffling away so as not to risk making a wrong move and waking him up, Niccolò takes in his surroundings. The street outside is quiet, so it must still be pretty early but the room is bathed in the morning light. Next to him, a deep exhale draws his attention back to Martino who turns to settle on his back, keeping his face angled towards the window as if he was still trying to enjoy the air seeping through. He takes another deep breath but remains entirely dead to the world. The last thing Niccolò wants is to wake him up, not when the entire country is still sleep-deprived after the heatwave, but his fingertips itch with the want to touch him again. He can do that now, he took the leap and he may still be flying for now, but for once, he’s not worried about sticking the landing.

There is a stray strand of hair across Martino’s ear that is begging to be pushed back into place, so that’s what he does. Right under it, Martino’s piercing appears, catching a ray of light through the curtains they never quite got to closing last night.

When they had met and Niccolò’s eyes had fallen on the little piece of metal, he had had trouble reconciling all of them, Martino the accountant, with his baggy shirts, poorly-cut jeans, his helix piercing and his tattoos. Now, they make sense and he couldn’t imagine one without the others.

It is tempting to continue his exploration of Martino’s ear, his jaw, his face, but Niccolò doesn’t know how light of a sleeper he might be, so he decides that the only thing lacking in this idyllic scene is breakfast in bed. As good as the hors d’œuvres had been at the party, they really weren’t any kind of actual nourishment and he’s hungry. The hotel, as far he knows, doesn’t do room service, but breakfast should be served downstairs.

As quietly as he can, he gets up and gets dressed in rumpled clothes that smell slightly musty after having dried in a heap. None of that matters. He grabs a 20-euro note in case he has to convince someone to let him bring the food upstairs and heads down.

The breakfast room, just off of the lobby, is empty save for one other early riser who is dividing her attention equally between her phone and a bowl of coffee filled almost to the brim. Niccolò has no idea what Martino likes for breakfast, so he starts piling up fruit, bread and little portions of jam, different kinds of pastries on a plate under the critical eye of the waiter who is finishing setting up the food. Before he can stop to think whether or not it is a good idea to share this with a complete stranger, Nico explains that he is trying to surprise the man of his dreams who is still sleeping upstairs. The waiter’s expression softens immediately and he disappears briefly behind a door to come back with a tray and two small pitchers he fills with orange juice and coffee respectively before handing him the whole set. Niccolò accepts all of it gratefully and proceeds to cover the tray in more food. He considers the jars of cereal but it seems too much of a logistical hassle to add these and milk to his selection. After a brief deliberation, he replaces them with more apricots and hopes that cereals don't happen to be Martino's breakfast of choice. The waiter is following his progress with an amused smile so Nico hands him the folded bank note with a whispered “thank you” before heading back towards the elevator.

Opening the door to their room while keeping the tray level is a struggle, but he manages it. Inside, Martino is awake, sitting up in the bed and watching him come in while rubbing his neck.

"Good morning."

“Morning,” Martino replies in a gruff voice that he can’t help but find endearing.

“I found breakfast,” he announces proudly while presenting him with the tray, grinning. Martino stares at the tray and then looks up at him. For maybe the first time since they’ve known each other, he’s not smiling back and Niccolò’s heart trips in his chest. He goes to put the tray down on the table before returning to sit next to Martino, who is being oddly quiet. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Martino answers, slouching back into his pillow and looking away.

Niccolò had been ready to lean in, hoping for a kiss, but instead he just lies down on his side, which brings him almost level with Martino, as he frantically searches his memory to find what could possibly have gone wrong already. He extends a hand to reach out for Martino but thinks better of it and leaves it between them.

“What is it?” He’s afraid to ask the second half of his question, but if Martino considers what happened last night to be a mistake in any way, shape or form, he figures he might as well know right now. “Isn’t that what you wanted?” He gestures vaguely between them. “I thought it was.”

“No, it is.”

“Then, what’s the problem?”

With a sigh, Martino looks up but instead of turning to him, he directs his gaze towards the window, where the sun is still shining, ignorant of what may be happening in a small, unremarkable hotel room.

“The problem is that before, when I asked you to go for a drink, or now, I never wanted this to be a one-time thing.”

Niccolò frowns, he doesn’t remember either of them ever implying that this couldn’t keep happening. He wonders if Martino assumed it was a “What happens in Milan stays in Milan” situation but if there is a reason why they couldn’t bring it back to Rome, he fails to see it.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

Martino briefly turns his eyes in his direction before going back to gazing at something outside.

“You said you didn’t date people you work with.”

With a closer look at his expression and the unhappy turn to Martino’s mouth, Niccolò finally understands and the realization blows him away. It’s almost lucky that Martino is busy looking at anything but him right now, because he might have misunderstood the smile that he can’t fight.

“Only when they’re not you.” The words make Martino’s head snaps towards him and he only looks the more surprised when Niccolò moves closer to him.

“What? No, it’s a good rule.”

“But rules have exceptions.”

The suggestion doesn’t seem to assuage Martino’s doubts, he just seems confused instead and shakes his head vehemently. “No, Nico. I get it, I really do. You don’t have to...”

“Marti,” he cuts off gently. “I appreciate what you’re doing, but it’s my rule, and I think it’s time to amend it.”

“Why?” Martino sounds a little strangled and he shakes his head again, in disbelief this time.

Niccolò exhales and frowns. He hadn’t exactly expected to have this conversation here or so soon, but if it’s necessary to make Martino understand he means it, then so be it. “If I ever broke up with you, would you make a scene in front of everyone at Brava?”

A frown also appears on Martino’s face and he turns to his side as well, so they’re fully facing each other and he can give Niccolò his full attention. Martino seems to carefully consider his answer before speaking.

“I doubt it, it’s not really my style.”

“Would you tell everybody you know that I’m crazy and unreliable?” Niccolò continues, not letting himself dwell on memories. This is not about the past, this is about him and Martino, no one else.

Martino’s eyes widen and his next words are spoken low but with unflinching conviction. “Of course not.”

“Would you use accuse me of stealing designs I made just so you could use them for yourself?” This time, Martino doesn’t answer but looks down at Nico’s hand lying on the sheet between them, before running his thumb along his knuckles. The silence stretches for a few heartbeats that seem to resonate directly into Niccolò’s ears.

“I don’t even know what I would do with them. Your designs,” Martino adds in answer to his questioning look. It may not be quite the words Niccolò was expecting but in Martino’s voice as in his eyes, there’s sadness mixed with sympathy and a lot more, all of which would be answers enough if he hadn’t known this already. “The only people from fashion I know are from Brava. And I’m pretty sure Eva would kill me with her bare hands,” Martino continues, finally letting a smile appear on his face.

Relief washes over Niccolò who mirrors his expression. “Not Ele?”

“No, Ele would make sure my body’s never found.”

Niccolò laughs and wraps his arm around Martino’s waist to draw him closer. Martino lets him willingly, shuffling on the mattress until they are almost flush against each other.

“I’m sorry that happened to you”, Martino says, with that accent of pure conviction that goes straight to Niccolò’s heart. “I don’t have any way of proving it, but I can promise I’d never do anything like that.”

“I know. I trust you.” Having said the words out loud, Niccolò finds it hard to believe he ever had any doubt about placing his future in Martino’s hands. The only thing he could blame it on would be the instinct for self-preservation he had tried to drill into himself after rebuilding himself back up, and even that seems like a flimsy excuse compared to how much he means the words now that he’s finally said them. A look of uncertainty crosses Martino’s face, however, as if he was still not quite convinced. Niccolò braces himself for an argument he doesn’t want to have, making one last attempt at putting the matter to rest. “Stop trying to dissuade me. I’ve made up my mind.”

The look remains for a moment while Martino searches his expression for something. But then, it fades away in the blink of an eye. “Oh, well. If your mind’s made up, what can I do?”

Niccolò pushes him down onto the mattress and leans over him, close enough that he can feel Martino’s surprised exhale against his own lips. “If you need ideas, I can give you a few.”

It hasn’t even been 12 hours since Niccolò started kissing Martino, but it is already at the top of his list of things he wouldn’t mind doing for the rest of his life. He tries not to dwell on the thought that they could have been doing this for much longer if he hadn’t been so intent on clinging to rules that seem meaningless now. After all, everybody always insists on telling him he has to live in the moment. And there’s nothing quite like this moment right here. Unfortunately, the moment doesn’t last nearly long enough and Martino breaks the kiss. Any trace of doubt or confusion is gone from his expression, he just looks up at Niccolò with that grin he had been missing so much when he came back from his breakfast errand. Niccolò lies down next to Martino and rests his head on his shoulder. Now that his attention is no longer solely focused on Martino, he has become well aware of the pins and needles in the arm that he had been resting on.

“Hey, did you say something about breakfast before?” Martino asks out of nowhere before craning his head to try and catch a look at it.

“You took your time digesting that information.”

Martino gives his arm a light shove. “Give me a break, I had other things on my mind. But now I’m kinda hungry.” He looks a little sheepish at the admission, but Niccolò really couldn’t care less what they do now as long as he knows that at any point from now on, barring any circumstances preventing it, he could go back to kissing Martino. Plus, he’s also feeling ravenous and now that food has been mentioned, his body is reminding him that some sustenance would be more than welcome. So, he pushes himself off the bed and, while Martino sits up again and watches him with interest, he brings back the tray and deposits over the sheets.

“Who did you have to bribe to get that feast?” Martino asks as he picks up a cornetto.

“Just the waiter.” Either his answer or the chuckle that comes with it brings a questioning look to Martino’s eyes. “But all I had to do was spin him a tale of love and he was more than happy to give me all this stuff.”

Surprise briefly crosses Martino’s expression at this words, but he doesn’t say anything, just smiles in a way that makes his eyes crinkle before picking up the pitcher of coffee and filling both cups.

“It’s probably cold by now,” Niccolò realizes, wishing he had shown a little more foresight, but Martino just shrugs.

“It’s summer, so we can say it’s iced coffee.”

“I think it’s just room temperature coffee at this point.”

Martino raises his cup of tepid coffee in his direction. “That can be the next cool trend, then. To that waiter.”

Niccolò clings his own cup against Martino's. “To Milan.”

“To Milan.”

After he takes a sip, Martino tries his best to hide a wince because room-temperature coffee is probably not going to be the next cool trend, but he doesn’t quite manage it. He keeps drinking, though, and they both start to dig in the pile of food.

“What was on your mind, then, that was more important than breakfast?” Niccolò asks after a few minutes of eating in silence.

With a thoughtful expression, Martino finishes his mouthful of food and takes a sip of the orange juice, which withstood the wait much better. He crosses his hands over his ankles.

“Just that it really was a shame this was never going to happen again. I thought that was why you had left maybe, so you wouldn’t have to turn me down. Again.”

Niccolò flinches at the idea of Martino waking up alone to an empty bed with no idea where he was and thinking he had been rejected a second time. In his excitement about surprising him with breakfast, that had been one detail he hadn’t considered.

“I’m sorry. And I’m sorry about turning you down the first time.”

“No, no,” Martino immediately shoots back. “Like I said, I get it. I’m just glad you reconsidered.” He straightens up and a smug little smile appears on his face. “It’s the least you could do. I mean, I passed up on a date with a model for you.”

With a laugh, Niccolò mirrors his position and picks up a strawberry from the tray. “You did. But I bribed a waiter to get you breakfast and you didn’t even care.”

He’s just pulled the stem from the strawberry when Martino takes it from him and shoves it in his mouth. “Bullshit. I’m eating it.”

The food starts to go down pretty quickly after that and Martino attempts to steal more of what he picks up every chance he gets. Niccolò’s keeping an eye on him, though, so he fails pretty consistently until he gives up and contents himself with picking his own food. They’ve been silent for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts and relishing in the comforting food, when Martino speaks again. “Hey, Ni?”

“Yes?” Niccolò answers distractedly as he tries to consider which choice he might regret the most: eating the last pastry or not eating the last pastry.

“Full disclosure?”

That draws Niccolò’s attention away from his stomach and back to the man in front of him looking at him expectantly. He brushes some crumbs from his fingers into the tray.

“Okay.”

Full disclosure has brought them to where they are, so he’s not too worried about what might be coming. Still, Martino takes in a breath before launching into it.

“Remember your friend’s show, the one that you invited everybody to back in March or April?”

Of course, he remembers the occasion perfectly. It had been the first time Martino had hung out with them outside of work and it had been only a few days later that he had made his offer of drinks. He’d rather dwell on the first part of the memory, so he grins, resting his weight on his hands behind him.

“Ah, you hated it. I knew it.”

“No, I didn’t. Except maybe for the part where I had kind of assumed you had only invited me.”

That part is news to him so he immediately sits up again.

“Really?”

“Yes, and then Eva showed up and I felt like such an idiot.”

“Oh no,” he can’t help but laugh, even though he can imagine how Martino must have felt in the moment. “I’m sorry.”

“I think that one was on me, really. I got wishful thinking mixed up with reality, I guess.”

They stay silent for a while as Martino toys with a half-eaten piece of bread.

“Full disclosure?” Niccolò eventually asks, and Martino makes an encouraging gesture in his direction. “Back then, I kinda needed the others there so I wouldn’t be tempted to break my rule. It didn't work that well.”

Martino nods in that ever understanding way he has that never ceases to amaze Niccolò. “It was a fun night either way. I really had a good time.”

“So, no hard feelings, then?” Niccolò asks, and he’s only half teasing.

With a pretty eloquent look, Martino gestures at the state of the bed, the rumpled sheets, the two of them sitting there, the leftover food. “No, I think we’re good.”

A door slams somewhere in the hallway, and the noise reminds Niccolò that they are not actually alone in a world where they have no obligations. He leans back as far as he can without actually turning around and picks up his phone on the nightstand to check for the time.

“We’re going to have to start getting ready soon if we want to make our train.”

In front of him, Martino lets out a frustrated groan, drops the piece of bread back into the tray and flops down onto his back. “Do we want to make our train?”

“I’m not sure we have much of a choice. They’re going to start charging us if we stay here and this city’s not cheap.”

“But you said ‘soon’, so we still have some time, right?” They do, so Niccolò puts down his phone and pushes the tray away, before lying down next to Martino who turns to his side so their bodies are lined together. Martino lets out a brief chuckle once they’re face to face. “You know, this was supposed to be a work trip.”

“And I don’t know about you, but I got a lot of work done,” Niccolò counters. “The rest of it was personal time and I think we made the best of it, too.”

“The goal was to network with people _outside_ Brava.”

“And I did!” Niccolò says, pretending to be offended. “I went to that boring dinner and I spoke to so many people last night, so did you. And,” he adds, “these things are also a chance to get to know your coworkers better.”

Martino rolls his eyes at the turn of phrase, but he doesn’t deny it. “At least we know our bosses won’t mind fraternization in the workplace.”

"Like they weren’t actively encouraging it."

Martino makes a noise of agreement before his expression turns more thoughtful. “Isn’t that a little bit weird?”

“What isn’t?”

“Fair point,” Martino replies.

“And I don’t know if they’d agree, but that investor refusing to pick another date and them getting stuck in Rome turned out pretty well in the end.”

“Right. That and the fact that everybody else was busy.” Niccolò isn’t quick enough to hold back a grin at that comment and Martino catches it. “Was everybody else busy?” He adds, suspicion in his tone.

“It was very last minute, so probably.”

The expression on Martino’s face isn’t quite convinced but he also really doesn’t seem to mind.

“Either way, thanks for inviting me.” Martino kisses him once, briefly. “And for sparing me the rest of the heatwave.” He leans in again, but Niccolò is reminded of another conversation they had, a conversation that could be brought to its conclusion now.

“Right. So, I guess we’re even now.”

Martino’s brow furrows as he tries to figure out his meaning. “Even?”

Niccolò points at his own chest to explain, “I saved you from the heatwave and that opening panel.” He moves his hand to Martino’s chest. “You spared me from having to be here alone, and now…” He trails off and pushes a strand of hair from Martino’s face, unsure whether he wants to actually say the words out loud.

“We’re not even,” Martino retorts when he’s finally taken in his meaning.

“I think we are.”

“No. If anything, this," he gestures to the space between them, "should count as a tie. You’re still one ahead.”

There’s such vehemence in his tone that Niccolò swallows and doesn’t find anything to do but kiss him again until he feels Martino’s hand on his chest pushing him away.

"I just thought of something,” Martino says when Niccolò finally agrees to pull back just enough to hear him out.

"And it couldn't wait?"

"No, listen,” Martino chastises. “I found your jacket last night."

“You did. And?”

“That’s one more for me. _Now_ we’re even.” He lets go of Niccolò to open both hands, looking very proud of himself for this revelation. Niccolò cannot believe he gets to have him to himself now.

“Okay,” he relents. “We’re even.”


	14. Gossip

They have Monday off in return for having sacrificed their Saturday and it almost feels undeserved to Martino given that the professional part of the weekend has already well and truly slipped his mind. He still takes the day off, though, because he did have to wake up at an ungodly hour and sit through a day and a half of conferences on fashion. What happened after that, he figures, is nobody’s business but his and Nico’s.

On Tuesday morning, Martino is at his desk, sipping on an actual iced coffee this time, even though the temperature had considerably cooled down in Rome as well by the time they got back. Nico is in meetings with people he met at the conference all day but he has been texting him seemingly from the moment he woke up until he and Eleonora had to sit in with the first supplier. While all the emails he missed since Friday are piling up in his inbox, Martino is catching up on the messages, trying to make sense of all of them and wishing he didn’t have to wait until the next day to see Niccolò again. It has been two entire days since that morning in the hotel room and it feels like much longer. So, the fact the he has lost himself in reminiscences of the weekend is the only reason he doesn’t see what is about to happen coming.

“You’re glowing.” He jumps when he realizes that Eva has leaned in across his desk to whisper practically in his face. She then takes the seat in front of his desk with a small satisfied smile. “Had fun in Milan?”

“Fuck, stop doing that.” He puts down his phone to clutch at his chest where he could swear his heart actually skipped a beat in surprise. “That’s unbelievably creepy.”

“So, did you?” She insists.

“Yes, I had fun.”

“What kind of fun?”

He gives her a scowl that does nothing to dampen the glee on her face. “You do know you’re my boss, right?”

“And? I’m also your friend.”

“Oh, are we friends now?” He asks, once he has fully regained his composure.

“Of course, we're friends, asshole.”

He has to drop the scowl after that, because there is no way to deny that Eva has been supportive from the start in her own, very personal way, without showing complete and utter bad faith.

"And how did the meeting with the investor go?" They may be friends, but there are limits to what he’s willing to disclose in their workplace and before 10am.

Her mouth drops open in offense. "You're changing the subject?"

"No, I’m doing the job you hired me for."

"Fine, it went fine,” she relents, probably biding her time until she can bring it up again if Martino knows her well. “The guy's kind of a dick, but he's got loads of money he doesn’t know what to do with, and after some convincing, he seemed willing enough to give some of it to us. It was pretty promising."

“Despite the fact that he's a dick?”

“Honestly, I think he was overplaying it a bit to try and trip us up, because he definitely knew what he was talking about and he had done his research on us. By the end of the meeting, he had started to mellow out.”

“Okay,” Martino replies slowly. “That’s one strategy, I guess.”

“We’re still working out the fine prints of his involvement, but we’ll get you up to speed soon.” She crosses her hands together on her lap and sits back in her chair. “Are you satisfied, Mr. Accountant?”

“Sure. Let me know if you need anything from me.”

“We will,” she replies before pausing. “So, you really did have a good time?” She lowers her voice in a more conspiratorial tone that closes off the official part of the conversation. His phone buzzes again with a new text from Niccolò and he feels his face relax into a smile he has no control over. She follows his gaze and her eyes get softer, like she can probably guess his answer. He gives her a nod anyway because he finds that he doesn’t really mind her knowing. There is no need for him to elaborate further, his expression must be a dead giveaway on its own, which is why he isn't surprised at her answer.

“I’m happy for you. Both of you.” She pushes herself off the chair. “I should get back to it, but will you tell me about it sometime?”

He knows he will, but he still shakes his head noncommittally while she waits by the door. “We’ll see.”

Martino has been working at Brava for about five months, and he fully expects that everybody will know about him and Nico by the time the weekend comes around. He would actually bet on much sooner if they weren’t all having a very busy week.

On Wednesday, as Nico is finally back in the office, they decide to escape for lunch in the hope that they can have a moment for themselves. They find a table towards the back of a café that is pretty popular with Brava employees both for its quickly prepared but excellent food and for being one of the rare decent places to eat in the area. It is so popular, in fact, that they have been here for barely over five minutes when Federica and Sana come in as well. There is nowhere to hide in the relatively quiet café, so they all notice each other almost right away. He and Nico exchange one glance before moving their chairs closer to make room for them. Niccolò leaves his arm around the back of Martino’s chair while they sit down and exchange fake exclamations of surprise at meeting here.

The waitress brings back two more menus and while the girls give a cursory look at the dishes they all know by heart, Niccolò rubs his thumb along Martino’s side. In response, Martino turns to him and they exchange a smile while Sana makes the same comment regarding the quality of the moussaka as Martino had minutes earlier. His attention is drawn back to the table when he notices that Federica is glancing between him and Nico. Her face lights up suddenly.

“Oh, so _he’s_ your type!” she exclaims inexplicably, which draws laughter from both Niccolò and Sana.

“I guess he is,” Nico replies, before he can ask that somebody explains what that was supposed to mean. It doesn’t seem to be a bad thing, though, and now Federica and Sana are both looking at him curiously so he figures it might be better to table the question for later, when it’s just the two of them. The waitress comes back to take their orders and is off just as quickly as she appeared. “How is it going with you and Chicco, by the way?” Niccolò continues, addressing Federica.

“Amazing, thanks again for swapping with me. I owe you big time for that.”

“Swapping?” Martino asks this time, because a lot seems to be escaping him in this conversation.

“We’ve got a supplier in Turin that Nico used to deal with,” Federica starts explaining.

“And who is apparently very cute,” Sana interrupts, with a twinkle in her eye and a grin that seems to imply that she doesn’t particularly agree but finds the whole thing hilarious.

“He is,” Federica continues. “So I swapped Nico for another of our supplier who’s just outside the city. And you’re welcome for making sure your man sticks around,” she adds with a laugh.

Her explanation suddenly reminds Martino of his very odd conversation with Eleonora about travel expenses and he snorts. It hadn’t occurred to him that Nico might not have been the one trying to get closer to somebody. The other three give him curious looks.

“What?” Niccolò asks with a nudge to his side.

“Nothing,” Martino replies, leaning in closer to him. “It just reminded me of something. I’ll tell you later.”

Nico looks like he still wants to ask, but Sana speaks again before he can.

“This company’s going to turn into a matchmaking agency at this rate.” If her tone is anything to go by, she doesn’t seem to mind that much.

“Jealous?” Nico asks in that teasing tone that had thrown Martino off so much in the beginning, when he wasn’t sure how to separate it from flirting.

“I think I’m good.”

An unconvinced grimace crosses Federica’s face and she’s about to open her mouth when the waitress comes back with their food and places each plate in front of its rightful owner without hesitation. Sana throws Federica a warning look over the moussaka, which of course requires some follow-up from the entire table. They don’t get the quiet, intimate lunch they had been hoping for, but the thought only crosses Martino’s mind when they get their checks and he finds that he doesn’t mind that much. There’ll be other lunches, other dinners, other breakfasts in bed, an infinity of them if he has anything to say about it.

In all fairness, what happens the next day may be their fault. Making out in the very public kitchen of their workplace is not the best idea they've had. But the room is so small and Martino had been distracted by Nico’s proximity and then he had reached past him to grab something and one thing had led to another. And then had led to Silvia walking in on them and proceeding to coo at them while they fail at getting a word in and Martino tries not to get too annoyed. Luckily, even she runs out of steam eventually and reaches what seems to be the conclusion of her soliloquy.

“Leo said you probably weren’t even into guys and that’s why you weren’t interested.” She seems to ponder something and she gives him an once-over he doesn’t understand until she adds, “And all gay guys I know have really good style.” The comment draws a laugh from Niccolò and Martino holds back an eye roll simply because he’s been in too good a mood so far this week to lose it over something so insignificant. Silvia’s cheeks immediately turn a little pink. “Sorry, Marti, I didn’t mean to say your style isn’t good, just...” She trails off and seems at a loss how to end her sentence.

Martino looks down at his tee-shirt which is, admittedly, starting to look a little threadbare. Next to him, Niccolò shuffles even closer until their arms are pressed together and he hooks up one of his fingers with Martino’s over the counter.

“I think that wouldn't be completely unwarranted,” he finally replies, feeling generous, which seems to reassure Silvia.

Eleonora walks halfway through his sentence and Silvia immediately turns to her.

“Ele,” she begins, “what do you think of Martino’s clothes?”

An empty cup in hand, Eleonora stops short of all three of them and her expression grows confused. She gives Martino a brief once-over.

“I think they’re his business.” She pauses and bites her lower lip in apparent deliberation. “But if you ever felt like using that generous employee discount we have, you know, feel free.”

Martino is starting to believe that he really shouldn’t have tried to make that tee-shirt last for another summer. If he had known one year ago who he would be working with, he might have examined that decision more thoroughly. He gives a decisive nod. “Duly noted.”

Silvia walks up to Nico and nudges him playfully. “It’s a good thing that most guys can be customized, isn’t it?”

Martino laughs off the comment and takes another sip of coffee. He doesn’t, however, expect Niccolò to make an unconvinced face. “I think we’re good, Silvia.”

His answer seems to surprise her. After a brief silence that is starting to border on awkward, she picks up her glass of one of the weird flavored waters she likes to have in the summer before making her exit. Eleonora watches her leave with a half-fond and half-exasperated look before turning back to them. She gestures in their direction with her cup, so they move out of the way of the sink. Martino wonders if they should leave her to it and get back to work, but before he can make up his mind, she peeks at them over her shoulder.

“So...” She starts, drawing out the word. “How was the conference?”

Nobody in this company knows how to mind their own damn business, and Martino has never cared so little about it. Nosy as they can be, they’ve never been actively obtrusive or digging for gossip, because they’ve all been the victims of that. No, they do it because they care. It still takes some getting used to after years of being under the impression that Filippo was an exception. Martino turns to Nico who is looking at him and makes a face.

“Meh,” Niccolò replies. “Pretty boring.”

Eleonora slowly puts her now clean cup in the dish rack, then dries her hand on the towel hanging from a hook on the wall.

“Good thing we couldn’t go, then.”

“Oh, yeah,” Nico continues. “It definitely wouldn’t have been worth your time.”

She gives Niccolò an indulging smile and pats his shoulder on her way out of the room. Once they’re left alone and after making sure that nobody else seems to be on their way to the kitchen, they resume their position, leaning against the sink. Neither of them speaks right away, while they keep enjoying their drinks and each other’s presence close by without having to guess or wonder at how the other is feeling. Not everything is traced yet and might never be, and Martino has no doubt that there will be concerns or questions in the future, but for now, they bask in this moment of peace and quiet.

“So,” Martino eventually breaks the silence, holding his mug tight and rubbing his thumb along the ridge, “you’re not going to customize me?”

Nico gives him a long look before glancing down, although he doesn’t seem to be assessing his actual outfit, just thinking. “No, I think you’re alright already.”

“Really?” Warmth bursts through Martino’s chest when Nico’s eyes meet his again. “I guess you’re pretty alright too.”

Instantly forgetting the lesson they’ve just learned, Martino kisses him again. They all already know anyway and nothing will happen, nobody will get fired, nobody will be accused of anything either, except maybe of hogging the sink. As Nico’s hand wraps around his neck, Martino marvels at the things that can happen in five months, at the way two people can manage to put the past to rest together and how much easier it becomes when the only thing they have to worry about is the slightly overinvested support of the people around them. He stops thinking soon after that until a voice coming from the doorway startles them both and they turn around as one.

"Not that I'm not happy for you," Eleonora begins, her grin belying the severity she is trying to imbue in her words, "but you guys are going to get some work done at some point, right?"

"Mind your own business,” Niccolò shoots back, not letting go of Martino.

"This is literally our business," Eva points out, appearing behind Eleonora and gesturing at the premises.

“Did you need something?” Martino asks, not quite keeping the impatience out of his voice.

Eva and Eleonora exchange a glance. “No,” they both answer.

“Then, do you mind?”

“Fine, carry on,” Ele sighs, grabbing Eva’s hand to drag her away with her.

“No, don’t carry on,” they hear Eva protest, her voice fading away into the hallway. “Why are you encouraging them?”

The door to one of their offices closes and silence descends again. They’re probably right and they should really get back to work but when they reach the doorway, Martino and Niccolò linger there.

“Do you have plans tonight?” Nico asks.

“I really don’t.”

“And you have a roommate, right?”

“Yes,” Martino replies, as it crosses his mind that he is definitely going to need more time before he ventures to expose Elia and Niccolò to each other. “Do you?”

“No, just a fern, but she’s very discreet.” He pauses and studies Martino, as if trying to guess his answer to the implied invitation, which Martino is extremely in favor of. “Tonight, then?”

Martino nods. “Tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit where credit is due, shoutout to my friend Colette who once said that guys were customizable and has not been allowed to forget it since.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me until the end.  
> 


	15. I live here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Briefly bringing this back to add an epilogue, as suggested by Riverbug who wanted Elia and Nico meeting. Sorry it took me so long, it's pretty short, I hope it's not too far from what you imagined.  
> 

“So, Marti.”

Martino opens his eyes, shielding his face from the sun to look at Gio, who is sitting on his right with Elia by his side, the two of them sporting their serious expressions. And on this perfectly ordinary, quiet summer evening, Martino knows that he is screwed. He has no idea how exactly or why, only that it is going to happen and that there is nothing he can do about it.

"What?" He asks, wondering if he should sit up to hear this or if he’s better off taking whatever is coming lying down.

"Niccolò," Gio continues.

"What about him?"

"Why are you hiding him from us?"

Martino decides that sitting up is the way to go. "I'm not hiding him!"

After exchanging a glance with Gio, Elia suddenly claps him on the chest as if struck by a revelation. "Are you hiding us from him?"

"Are you ashamed of us, Marti?" Gio asks with a wounded expression.

"Fuck off, I'm not hiding anybody."

"It's been a month and he's never even been to our place," Elia points out.

"Well, he doesn't have a roommate."

Elia seems to take his response as an insult against his character because he immediately recoils in offense. "Am I not a good wingman, Marti? I helped you pick a shirt, remember that? And now you’re hiding your boyfriend."

“For fuck’s sake," Martino mutters, regretting the time when, two minutes ago, he was enjoying the last rays of sunshine of the day and he was not having this conversation. “It’s just easier, okay? He lives closer to Brava and we don’t have to worry about anybody else at his place. You get that, right?”

“I’d really like to meet him,” Luca comments from Martino’s left side, where he had been keeping quiet until now.

“I’m not saying I don’t want you guys to meet him, but he’s been pretty busy and so have all of you. So, when we get to have some time together, no, you’re not invited.”

“And we totally respect your right to fuck your model boyfriend in peace,” Luca declares, nodding wisely while the other two laugh.

Martino rubs his forehead with one hand and considers correcting pretty much everything in that sentence but decides after a short deliberation to let it slide. It doesn’t seem worth it.

“Thank you,” is all he says.

“How about you invite him to our place, and then I can leave and you get the flat to yourselves?” Elia suggests.

“Yeah, we just want to have a drink and meet him, that’s it,” Gio adds.

They’re so eager to make it happen while making sure he and Nico get time alone as well that Martino can’t help but mellow out a little and smile. The subject has actually also come up several times with Niccolò and Martino’s been thinking about it, but he had not been lying, things at Brava have been increasingly busy since the conference, all thanks apparently to some precious connections they had managed to secure. It’s very good for the company, not so good for Martino’s desire to catch up on the time lost before that weekend in Milan.

“Sure, we can do that,” Martino concedes.

The other three exchange delighted looks. “How about next weekend?” Elia offers right away, presumably before he can change his mind

Niccolò had been planning to drag him to the zoo next Sunday, for reasons which remain as yet unclear, but he’s pretty sure he’s free for the rest of the weekend, which has been a rare occurrence in the last month.

“Okay, I’ll check with him and I’ll tell you.” The topic seems to be closed to Martino who is hoping he might go back to enjoying the peace and quiet, but his friends keep staring at him expectantly. “What?”

“Well, you’ve got your phone on you now, haven’t you?” Elia says with a pointed look.

“Oh, my God," Martino sighs as he takes out his phone to text Niccolò.

The next Saturday night finds Martino in his room, keeping himself busy until Gio, Luca and Nico get here. He’s got music playing and he’s been unexpectedly entranced in some articles about Brava which Eva forwarded him so when a hum of voices comes up from behind the wall, he assumes Elia is watching a movie in his own room.

He finishes the article with a weird mixture of pride and amazement at the things Brava manages to do despite still being such a small company. As he takes out his phone to text Eva, he notices the time. Since their guests should be here any minute now, he decides to head out to the kitchen to make sure everything’s ready. Deep down, he already knows it is because Elia indulgently agreed to help him double and triple-check everything earlier in the day, but nervous energy is coursing through his body and demanding that he quadruple-checks, just in case. Although he doesn’t see any particular reason why tonight shouldn’t go well given that they’re all at least half-decent, semi-mature adults, it still feels like a big deal to have his friends meet Niccolò and he's been on edge for most of the day.

He’s got his hand on his door handle when laughter erupts somewhere in the flat. This laugh could not possibly come from some actor in a movie, it's a laugh that Martino would know anywhere. He opens the door and steps out to find Niccolò and Elia standing literal centimeters from their front door and apparently thoroughly enjoying themselves. As the door to his room closes behind him, they both turn around and look delighted to see him. Martino, on the other hand, can only stare incredulously.

“Hey Marti, Nico’s here,” Elia points out.

“Yeah, I see that. Were you going to tell me?”

Instead of responding, Elia first turns back to Niccolò, which Martino would have to admit is a little bit infuriating. He doesn't think he was focused enough on his reading to have missed the doorbell ringing, so Niccolò must have knocked, but he would have appreciated being notified that his boyfriend had arrived.

“Who said you were even invited, Marti?” Nico replies, laughing again, which makes it really hard for Martino to remain annoyed at anything.

“I did,” Martino shoots back anyway because he’s the one in the right here after all. Since they don't seem to be moving, he decides to join them at the entrance of the flat. “I made the invitation and also, I live here. Were you guys planning on standing here all night?”

That finally seems to convince them, and Elia is the first one to head into the living room while Nico finally approaches Martino to greet him with a kiss. Martino then turns towards their closet-sized kitchen to get all of them beers while Nico joins Elia and they pick up their conversation without hesitation.

A quick glance at the fridge shelves assures Martino that all the food that was already here a few hours earlier is still in its place, so it is with some relief at least that he also makes his way to the sofa.

They’ve at least left some room for him to sit this time, and he gladly drops down with his own drink, leaving them to decide if they care enough to stop talking long enough to open theirs. Nico’s hand is resting next to his thigh on the cushion, so Martino takes it and laces their fingers together as he tries to figure out what they are talking about. It takes him a few sentences to gather enough clues indicating that it must be about one of those old, artsy movies that Elia never usually admits he likes and whose posters are covering the walls of Niccolò’s room.

While Nico raves about some director of photography and Elia nods in vehement agreement, Martino settles against the back of the couch, takes a sip of his beer and listens as any residual trace of nervousness vanishes along the flow of words.

Somehow, after a few minutes, they seem to move seamlessly from an underrated masterpiece from the 1960s to the latest blockbuster, which makes Martino wonder if he may have missed the transition, having gotten lost in the moment as he watched Nico and Elia chatter excitedly. Now that they’re back in more familiar territory, Martino shakes himself out of his reverie and finally joins in the conversation until the bell rings, loud and clear this time, to announce that the rest of their party is here.

After depositing the dishes in the sink and filling them with water to let them soak, Martino takes a step back to lean against the fridge and watch the scene unfolding on the sofa. With wide, and frankly puzzling, gestures, Luca is recounting his last attempt at finding a new life goal. Niccolò is following the story with great enjoyment and a hint of puzzlement and Martino can’t help but grin at the pure glee that is making his eyes shine even brighter than usual. Elia, who has not moved from Nico’s side all evening, interrupts the rushed words spilling out of Luca’s mouth and whatever he says draws yet another bout of laughter from Nico.

“I never thought I’d say that,” Gio comments as he comes to stand by his shoulder, “but if you and Nico ever break up, I’m not so sure you’d get custody of Elia.”

“I’m starting to think if I fell out with Elia, I might not get custody of Nico either,” Martino laughs.

On the sofa, Luca and Elia bicker about something while Niccolò, who is sitting between them, leans back as far as possible to avoid being hit by a lost, frantic hand gesture. He drags his attention away from the other two after a few seconds and scans the room, evidently looking for Martino until their eyes meet. His expression softens and Martino’s chest, as it always does when Nico looks at him like that, feels impossibly fuller than it already was. The apartment fades away for a second until Luca loudly asks for an arbitration on whatever they are debating and Niccolò turns his attention back to them.

In the kitchen, Gio squeezes Martino’s shoulder. “Nah, I don’t think you have to worry about that.”


End file.
